


And Artemis Has Readied Her Bow

by hart_and_sole



Series: Roaring in my Heart [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-06
Updated: 2012-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-29 01:43:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 43,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/314485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hart_and_sole/pseuds/hart_and_sole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The new group of hunters in town want the Hale pack gone, and as the harassment escalates, the werewolves of Beacon Hills are forced to flee their territory. Even a state away, relaxing their guard comes with dire consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Allison

Allison nocked her arrow and lined the target up in her sights, pulling the bow taut and forcing herself still, though the strain on her forearms was evolving into pain. The rabbit looked right at her, and she let her arrow fly.

“Damn, Allison, nice job!” Caleb congratulated her, and went to retrieve the kill.

“Head shot, too,” Caleb’s sister Hazel added, impressed, clapping Allison on the shoulder. “Couldn’t ask for better.”

Allison couldn’t help but blush at the compliments. “I don’t work with a traditional bow much.” She held her bow in one hand to stretch out the muscles in the other arm. “I’m beginning to wish I’d brought my composite…”

Caleb turned to her, critter in hand, and smiled winningly. “Old fashioned archery’s an important skill - most hunters are pretty big on tradition. Besides which, you did great. Don’t knock yourself.”

“Thanks,” Allison said. It was nice, to have someone to appreciate her passion. Scott had tried, but had always looked vaguely alarmed when he saw her with a bow in her hands. In retrospect, that was kind of understandable.

Caleb, on the other hand, was a hunter born and raised; as comfortable with a weapon in his hand as he would be an eating utensil, and as such, he knew what he was talking about. His compliments sent a little thrill down her spine every time, even if she felt ashamed of herself for it.

It didn’t help that he was handsome, in his own rough around the edges, charming way. Sandy haired and soft featured, Caleb might have been considered cute, in the way men hated to be seen, if not for the ever-present scruff and the way he carried himself. There was always a hint of violence underneath the misleading veneer of civility; something that had set Allison on edge since the first time she’d met him.

His twin sister Hazel was, physically, Caleb in female form; fair haired and baby faced, with a smile so sweet it melted hearts. She was twice as dangerous as her brother. Smart, ruthless and cold as a rattlesnake beneath her butter-wouldn’t-melt smile, she would open her mouth and say things so vile and so evil that Allison would have to fight off a shudder as she struggled for a response. She could only thank God they were all staying on the other side of town from her, in a rented apartment complex.

“Do you want it for the pot, Ali?”

‘ _Allison, you moron. My name is Allison_.’ Allison cringed inwardly, but smiled brightly for Hazel. “Um, no. I don’t think my mom likes it much when I bring these little critters home.” She imagined the tasteful little scrunch of her mother’s nose the last time Allison had brought something small and fluffy home for dinner - like Allison was a cat laying a dead mouse at her feet.

“Your loss,” Caleb said, shrugging. “I’ll drop the day’s kill at Michael’s on the way to the meeting tonight. I’m sure he can make good use of it.”

Allison’s heart skipped a beat. She knew they’d been having these secretive meetings somewhere in town, but she’d never been invited. She needed to know what was going on in there, and if she had to paste a smile on her face and pretend to be a fucking psycho to get in, then that’s what she would do. “Can I come?”

Caleb and Hazel shared a long, significant look, and Allison had no way of knowing what was passing between them. Finally, Hazel turned to her and grinned her creepy grin, bright and soulless as a glass-eyed doll. “Well, sure pumpkin. You’re a clever girl; I think you’re about ready to see how things really are.”

Allison swallowed, but held her smile. “I’ll look forward to it.”

They dropped her at school in Caleb’s old pickup truck, and Allison lifted her head high and walked past everyone, ignoring all the whispers and the stares. As if the headlines in the local papers about Kate hadn’t done enough for her reputation, her new habit of hanging out with older men - her father’s “arms dealer” friends to boot - had half the kids at school painting her as some kind of harlot.

She’d spent half her life wishing she didn’t have to move around so much, but right now a part of her just wanted to pack up, move on and start fresh, somewhere she’d never have to worry about any of this ever again. Away from the family that had lied to her, and the friends that still were.

She watched the four of them as they lazed about under an old sycamore; saw the way Lydia and Stiles leaned into each other comfortably, and how Scott and Jackson started out a foot apart and crept closer and closer together, inch by inch. How they’d spring apart when they realised, only to repeat the process two minutes later. It looked like there’d been plenty of changes in their little group - not that anyone had bothered to tell her.

She couldn’t understand how she’d managed to drift apart from them so much. She hadn’t meant to push Scott away after what happened after the formal; she’d just needed some time. Now he didn’t look at her the way he used to, and it hurt more than she’d thought it could have.

As for Lydia and Jackson…well, she’d just been so distracted, what with all the disruption at home, and getting to know the family business, that she hadn’t even noticed they’d gained ‘distractions’ of their own. She missed them. All of them.

Allison shook herself out of her reverie, hoping she hadn’t been caught staring.

Lydia looked up, noticed her, and waved. “Hey, Allison. We didn’t see you there,” she called. Had she sounded hesitant? The others were giving her wary looks. Jackson was outright glaring.

Allison paused, taken aback. What had she done to deserve that?

Lydia rolled her eyes at Jackson, and leaned over to thump him on the arm. “Don’t mind him, Allison, he’s just had a rough night.” She hissed something too low to hear at Jackson. He sighed in response, and muttered a barely audible, “Sorry.”

“…it’s okay.”

Lydia shot her an apologetic look. “Meet me at lunch? We’ll catch up.”

Allison managed a smile; hoped it wasn’t bitter. “Sure. We haven’t talked in a while.” She didn’t hold out much hope of them telling her much of anything of their own volition. It had been on the tip of her tongue to tell them she knew everything, but something stupidly hopeful in her wanted to hear it from them. Wanted to know they still trusted her.

She looked back at Scott as she walked away, more than a little wistful, and sighed softly. She wondered, not for the first time, how things would have turned out if she hadn’t shied away from him the night Kate and Peter Hale had been killed. If she’d gone with her gut and kissed the living hell out of him instead.

She shook her head, clearing it. It was too late for what ifs. If she still felt a little bit guilty and heartsick over it, well, she’d channel it into something useful. Like trying to keep him safe from the deranged hunters who seemed to have an unsettling fixation on him and his pack.

She’d warned him months ago, in a vague kind of way, but she hadn’t quite understood just how serious things were at that point. If she was right about the Duvals…

She would go to their little club house meeting tonight, and find out what they weren’t telling her. Then she could pass the information along to the pack - they deserved to know what was going on. So did she, even if her family thought she still needed protecting. Her father was going to kill her if he ever found out.

***

Later that night, she stood outside an old community hall the locals had stopped using years ago. It was in a state of disrepair; the walls were crumbling and the windows boarded up, but warm light shone from inside the open door, and the scent of fresh coffee wafted towards her invitingly.

“You must be Allison,” a middle-aged, perfectly coiffed blonde said from the foyer, and moved to take Allison by both hands, smiling at her warmly. “Lord, you look just like your aunt. Doesn’t she, Hazel?”

“Oh, yes. Uncanny.”

Allison didn’t look like Kate at all, but she smiled back politely just the same. “That’s very kind of you to say so, Ms..?”

“Oh, heavens! Forgive me, dear - I’m Diana Duval, and I am so very pleased to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“I wish I could say the same, Ms. Duval, but I’m afraid my father -”

“Sheltered the living hell out of you, or so I hear. Say no more, my dear. And please, call me Diana!” she exclaimed in a refined, Southern Belle voice, smooth as honey over silk.

Allison kept smiling, suddenly feeling out of her depth. If this was the way Ms. Duval operated - keeping the unsuspecting off balance through persistent gentility and utmost politeness - it was certainly working.

The Duvals ushered her inside, and every eye in the hall turned to her. There were maybe two dozen people there, seated on reappropriated church pews; there was even an old wooden pulpit in the front. Great. Now she felt like she was a kid again, entering a church for the first time. She could feel their silent judgement weighing down on her. Diana blustered on past them all, regal and fearless, and tugged Allison along to a seat in the front row. Hazel sat down beside her, and Diana smiled encouragingly, then made her way to the pulpit.

So she was in charge, Allison thought. She shouldn’t be surprised - from what little she’d seen so far, Diana Duval certainly had the charisma and that faint unhinged quality that marked most cult leaders. She’s have to watch herself around that one.

Diana cleared her throat discreetly and gave them all a charming smile, waiting until she had everyone’s attention. “Now that everyone’s here, I’d like to introduce Allison Argent. Kate’s niece.”

Allison could feel all those eyes on her, and she fought not to squirm in her seat. She gave a little wave.

“Now, since young Allison is new to all this, I’d like to take a moment to say a few words, if y’all would care to indulge me just a bit?”

A murmur of agreement, and Diana smiled the same soulless, glass-eyed smile as her daughter. “I’m sure we’d all agree that Kate was a well respected, vital member of the hunting community, despite certain…proclivities we may not have approved of. I assure you, Allison, that we will not let her name continue to be slandered. We will not let her death go unavenged.”

‘Peter Hale’s already dead,’ she thought to herself, wondering what in the hell else they could do. Cremate what was left of his already toasted corpse? Dance on his grave?

Diana continued, a new, fanatical force in her voice. “The lupine threat in this town continues to grow, unchecked. There are four of them now; three of them children, and unblooded, as far as we can tell, but pups grow. Sooner or later their unnatural, murderous instincts will kick in, and human life will be the price of this lax attitude!”

The hall exploded in raucous noise, with everyone shouting their agreement all at once, and a chill ran down Allison’s spine.

“They must be driven away from civilization, where they cannot harm our kind, or they must be exterminated, like any dangerous animal. Oh, it’s natural to feel some compassion for them,” she said, looking right at Allison, “they were, after all, just like us at one time. Even now, they’re so like us it’s startling. Keep in mind, though, that the beast in them has no soul; no moral compass. They cannot be trusted.”

Several people murmured in concurrence. Diana nodded approvingly. “I think we all know what we must do.”

Abruptly, Diana’s expression went from stern and unforgiving to pleasant in an about-face so sudden it just about gave Allison whiplash. “Now! There’s coffee and pastries right over there. Dig in! And y’all make sure to make Miss. Argent feel welcome!”

Allison sat, unmoving, while everyone around her made their way to the refreshments. Her legs felt like jello. She felt like she’d survived a church service with the Manson family.

“Allison?” Caleb leaned down to speak to her. “Are you alright? I know the whole ‘us against them’ speech can be a bit much for a beginner…”

Allison took a moment to gather her composure, then made herself smile shyly for him, injecting just a hint of apprehensiveness. Too bold, and he’d know for sure she was faking. “No, a lot of that made sense to me, it’s just…They’re - _were_ \- my friends. How do you -?”

“Compartmentalize it?” Caleb laughed, softly, shaking his head, something sad and almost regretful in his eyes. “It’s not easy sometimes, but it’s something you have to learn. My father was bitten on a hunt when I was a kid.”

“Oh! Did you have to..?” _Did you murder him?_

“Nathaniel, God rest his soul, had the good grace to put a bullet in his brain and save us all the heartache,” Diana interjected, and pushed a cup of coffee and a Danish into Allison’s hand. “It had to be done. You have to understand, dear; once they’re bit, they’re not the people we knew anymore. They’re a danger to themselves and everyone around them, and they must be dealt with.”

Allison bobbed her head up and down and hoped to hell her eyes didn’t give away her shock. “…I’m starting to see,” she said, and didn’t mention what it was, precisely, that she saw. She didn’t think they’d appreciate being told they were all stark raving mad.

She smiled pleasantly for them, and complimented Mrs. Boucher on her baking, and did her best to fit in. Every ounce of sense in her body was telling her to get the hell away from these people, to run and not look back, but her head told her she needed to make nice with them. That this  was worse than she’d thought, and she had to protect her friends. For now, that meant gaining the confidence of a cult full of cold blooded murderers.

She stayed another hour, and with every passing minute she felt more and more dirty and wrong; like their evil could somehow rub off on her. Finally, Caleb dropped her off home, and she let the Stepford wife expression fall from her face. All the emotions she’d suppressed came back full force, and she shuddered, feeling ill.

“Allison, is that you? Where have you been?”

“I was -” she choked, swallowed a couple of times, and continued, voice light and happy, “I was at Lydia’s, dad.” She rummaged in her purse, loudly, and made an exasperated noise. “Crap. I’m sorry, dad, I think I forgot something at Lydia’s house. I’ll be right back!” she called, and didn’t wait for an answer.

Her father would need to know about this; it was too big and too serious to keep from him, but right now she couldn’t deal with the third degree. Right now, all she wanted was to see Scott. To know that he was safe, and unharmed.

She got in her car and just sat behind the wheel for a minute, breath coming in huge, gulping sobs that she couldn’t seem to stop. In a minute, she’d get hold of herself, go to the Hale house, and let everyone know what she’d found out. Right now, all she could do was sit there, quietly horrified, and wonder at the all the evil in the world. Sleep would be a long time coming tonight.


	2. Jackson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Runs parallel to chapter one.

Jackson woke up that morning in his own bed for once, feeling exhausted even before he opened his eyes. He was pragmatic enough to realise that a new day didn’t mean an end to yesterday’s problems, and the thought of facing another day like the one before made it hard to force himself out of bed.

He stumbled through his morning routine like a zombie, pausing only to check in on his mom, who’d come back from a cocktail party some time last night. He placed a cup of coffee next to her bed, stuck a piece of toast between his teeth, and grabbed his car keys before leaving the house.

“God damn it,” he cursed, dropping his toast as he stopped in front of his Porsche. The mutilated corpse of a rabbit had been smeared artfully all over his windscreen, with the word ‘Leave’ daubed in blood above it. So it was his turn this week. Lovely.

He daintily took hold of the rabbit by one foot, trying not to get blood on his clothes, and flung it as far away as he could. At least it wasn’t half rotting, like the dead squirrel those sick fucks had pinned to Scott’s door last week, he thought as he went to hose down the windscreen. That had been a smell he wouldn’t soon forget. Thank God Scott’s mom had been at work when that had happened.

He gave the car one last once over before heading off to pick Scott up for school, hoping the lingering stench would somehow escape his boyfriend’s attention. Scott was wound up enough about all this bullshit, without this to tip him over the edge.

Of course almost the minute Scott got in the car he was scrunching his nose up and sniffing. “Did you drive through road kill or something?”

Unfortunately, Jackson couldn’t lie for shit.

“Um…something like that.” One stern look, and he crumbled, like he always did. “Okay, they left me a little ‘gift’ this morning.”

“Fuck!” Scott cursed, and slammed his hand against the dash.

“Watch the interior!”

“Sorry,” Scott mumbled, contrite, trying to smooth the nice new dent in the inlay.

Jackson sighed. “It’s fine. What the hell are we going to do, Scott? They’re getting worse.”

Scott made a frustrated noise. “You know what I want to do. I _wish_ I could do something about these psychos, but Derek doesn’t want to hear it. We have to do _something_ -”

Jackson grabbed him by the arm, and some of Scott’s mounting anger leached away. “I know. Don’t lose it - that’s exactly what they want. We’ll talk to Derek tonight. Together, okay?”

Scott let out a long, calming breath, and nodded, rubbing his eyes. “Okay. It’s just - I hate that I can’t protect us from this.” He sounded bone-tired.

Jackson didn’t take offence to the attempted coddling - as Derek’s second, it was ingrained into Scott to look out for his subordinates. He literally couldn’t seem to help it. He’d been in a state of perpetual hypervigilance ever since the hunters had decided to make harassing them their life’s work, and it made Jackson tense just to look at him. “I know,” he said finally, not knowing what else to say.

They drove to school in silence, meeting up with Lydia and Stiles under an old sycamore and crowding close together to talk. He tried not to sit too close to Scott; tried not to draw attention to how close they’d gotten. It wasn’t that he was ashamed, so much as that he just wanted to keep this for himself a little longer. His body betrayed him, inching closer without his conscious knowledge; gravitating towards Scott’s warmth like a flower to sunlight.

“What’s wrong?” Lydia asked, reading their faces like an open book.

“More dead animals. Jackson’s car this time,” Scott growled, brows drawn down into a fierce frown. “Stiles, we can’t just keep letting this happen…”

Stiles rubbed his hand through his hair, frustrated. “I just don’t see what we can do. We can’t hurt them.”

“I can at least give them a damn warning, even if I can’t follow through,” Scott insisted, though from his tone even he realised how futile the effort would be.

Suddenly Lydia looked up. She raised her hand in a guilty little wave. “Hey Allison! We didn’t see you there.”

Allison was looking at them with the most hesitant, innocent of expressions, like a deer caught in the headlights, and Jackson wondered what kind of sins might be hiding behind that angel face of hers. Was she in on it? She was certainly chummy enough with those crazy fuckers.

Lydia whapped him on the arm, and Jackson drew back out of reach, scowling.

“For God’s sake, Jackson, this has nothing to do with her,” Lydia hissed, leaning in close. “She already warned Scott to look out for them, remember? Be decent.”

Jackson sighed. She was probably right. Probably. “Sorry,” he mumbled in Allison’s direction. He listened to Lydia arrange a lunch date, and didn’t relax until Allison was well out of earshot again.

Lydia rolled her eyes at him. “Really, Jackson? She’s so sugary sweet she probably poops kittens. I seriously doubt she’s been decorating your car with animal corpses.”

Jackson rolled his eyes right back, but let it drop. It didn’t mean he trusted her.

“So you guys will back me up, right?” Scott asked, looking at each of them in turn. “If I try to talk to Derek about this again?”

Jackson nodded instantly. Stiles sighed, then shrugged. “Sure, I guess. It can’t do any harm. If you don’t count the towering rage he’s likely to go into when we tell him the new lows those people continue to sink to…”

Scott looked at Lydia, waiting for confirmation. Lydia gave him a sceptical look. “Like Derek gives a shit what I think. I’m not ‘pack,’ remember?”

Stiles growled softly, eyes glowing bronze for a bare second. “You are to us,” he said finally, once he’d suppressed his wolf, and took Lydia’s hand in his. “Maybe not officially, but you are to us. Besides which, you’re a damn genius - he’d be an idiot not to listen to you.”

Lydia hid her pleased smile with an eye roll and a dramatic sigh. “Fine. If you boys can’t do it yourselves, I’ll come back you up.”

“Great,” Scott said, sounding satisfied. Jackson thought he was happy just to be doing something about it, even if Derek did veto the hell out of any course of action. “That’s settled then; we go to Derek’s tonight and…I don’t know, talk him into submission or something.”

Jackson let Scott hold on to that delusion, even if he knew Derek would be as unrelenting as every other time they’d broached the subject with him. Derek was as stubborn as a mule once he’d gotten something into his head, and this time was unlikely to be any different.

Instead, Jackson nudged Scott in the ribs. “If we’re going to be there a while, bring your books. Finals are coming up, and we are going to pull your grades up if it fucking kills me.”

Scott groaned, flopping back onto the ground exaggeratedly. “You’re more obsessed with my grades than you are your own.”

“If I’m stuck going to the same college as you are,” Jackson said, acid on his tongue to mask his real concern, “then you are damn well going to get yourself into a half decent one.” He’d had his choice of colleges mapped out and listed in order of preference since middle school, but the thought of having to leave Scott behind ate at him, no matter how much he chided himself for it. Sure, Scott would have no problems getting himself an athletic scholarship, but Jackson wasn’t the sort of guy to take chances.

“You’re worse than my mother,” Scott grumbled, but didn’t argue.

Jackson smiled pleasantly. “You’re welcome,” he said with saccharine sweetness, then spluttered as Scott laughed and smooshed a handful of torn up grass into his face. “That’s it!” Jackson cried, and retaliated with a handful of dirt, starting an all out war among the four of them.

The bell rang, interrupting their moment of peace. They went their separate ways to class, dirty and happy, earning them odd looks from the people they passed in the halls. Jackson couldn’t bring himself to care.

School had been an unexpected source of solace for him in the past few weeks, despite the stench of pre-finals panic the other kids were constantly giving off. It was the only place they were safe from the Argents’ new friends; the only sanctuary they wouldn’t broach. They weren’t even safe in their own homes anymore. It was only by some miracle that none of their parents had found any of the vandalism or ‘gifts’ before them.

Jackson took advantage of those few hours of peace while he could, but soon enough it was time to go home, and a ball of dread settled deep in his stomach. Scott was waiting for him at his car, looking for all the world like a guard dog, pacing and scenting the air as surreptitiously as he could.

“There are security cameras, they wouldn’t dare,” Jackson reassured him, opening the door and hopping in. Scott followed tiredly, slumping into his seat and closing his eyes. He looked exhausted. He probably was: he and Derek frequently patrolled the woods around the Hale house, often several times a day. Jackson was pretty sure Scott was doing the same at his house any night they spent apart. He was constantly alert, and he didn’t seem to have an off switch - that couldn’t be good for anyone.

“Tell Derek where to shove his patrols tonight,” Jackson said. “You need a break.”

Scott just looked at him wearily, giving him a wan smile. “Second, remember? I can’t. Duty, and all that…” He looked like he might fall asleep where he sat.

“Then me and Stiles will take over for a night or two.”

“What if you got hurt?” God, he sounded so scandalised.

Jackson snorted. “Like you haven’t been running that risk.”

“Me and Derek have a warning signal -”

“Then you can teach it to us. Besides, there’d be two of us.”

Scott scrunched his face up. He didn’t look happy, but didn’t seem to know how to argue Jackson’s point without resorting to using his seniority, which he knew Jackson hated. “…fine. But _you_ get to bring it up with Derek.”

“Fine by me,” Jackson said. It gave him an excuse to give Derek a piece of his mind. Derek might be their alpha, but it shouldn’t mean he had the right to run them into the ground. He started up the car and pulled out of the parking lot. “Do you need to stop by with your mom?” he asked, before taking the turn to the Hale house.

“No, I’ll call her and tell her I’m eating over at Stiles’ tonight.”

“You realise if you keep blowing her off like this, sooner or later she’s bound to suspect something?” Not that Scott’s mom was the most observant of people, but they were certainly pushing their luck as of late.

“You think I don’t know that?” Scott said, sounding more guilty than riled up. “You think I like making her feel like shit? I’m sorry, but there’s nothing more important than keeping us all safe right now. I’ll make it up to her later, okay?”

“Hey, I wasn’t trying to guilt you into anything, okay?” Jackson said soothingly. “Just - after we’ve sorted something out with Derek tonight, I think you should go home, spend some time with your mom, and get some damn sleep.”

“Maybe,” Scott replied wistfully after a while, obviously liking the sound of a good night’s sleep in his own bed, and equally obviously feeling guilty for wanting it.

Jackson took his eyes off the road to give Scott a firm, authoritative glance. “No maybes. It’s what’s going to happen. And if I catch you lurking around in my back yard like some overprotective German Shepherd I’ll go out there and kick your ass.”

Scott’s lips twitched. “That right?”

“Damn right. If you’re going to be a paranoid idiot you can do it in my bed instead of skulking around on my garage roof, or wherever it is you think you’ve been hiding.”

“I was up in the beech tree, actually.” At least Scott was smiling now.

“You are such an idiot,” Jackson said fondly, pulling up in front of Derek’s house and getting out of the car.

“But I’m your idiot,” Scott said when Jackson came over to help pull him up, sleepy and sweet, half drowsing in Jackson’s arms. Jackson turned and kissed the top of Scott’s head where it rested on his shoulder, and swallowed down the lump in his throat. It scared him, sometimes, how much of himself he had invested in this fallible, breakable boy.

“My idiot,” he agreed amiably, not hiding the soft affection in his voice. “Come on. You can go take a nap on the couch - Lydia and Stiles aren’t here yet.”

Scott mumbled something that sounded like assent, so Jackson unlocked the door and deposited him on Derek’s couch, covering him in the afghan draped over the back.  Seconds later, Scott was asleep.

Jackson sighed, and turned to find Derek directly behind him, smirking. “Shit!” he yelped. “Don’t do that, man,” he said, quieter this time, not wanting to wake Scott.

Derek inclined his head towards the kitchen, and Jackson followed him wordlessly, accepting a cup of coffee gratefully and sitting at the table.

“Spit it out,” Derek said, after watching Jackson struggle to speak his mind for several long minutes.

“I want you to stop working him so damn hard!” Jackson growled, surprised at his own anger. “He’s practically falling down on his feet today - I don’t know what you’d expect him to do if he actually met a hunter on patrol.”

Derek just stared back at him levelly, not giving anything away. “Are you volunteering your services, Jackson?” he said finally, wry amusement colouring his tone.

“Yes! I don’t see why me and Stiles couldn’t do it for a night or two. If you’d just -”

“Fine.”

“…fine?”

Derek’s wry smile widened. “Yes, fine. I’m not _that_ unreasonable, you know.”

‘ _Really_ ,’ Jackson thought to himself.

At Jackson’s raised eyebrow, Derek continued, “Scott’s a natural protector, so obviously he’s the best choice for guard duty, but if he needs a break I’m not going to throw some psycho bitch fit. I’ll admit, I don’t always remember that you kids have limitations.”

That might be putting it mildly, Jackson thought, but didn’t comment, grateful for the concession. Now if only he’d be as accommodating elsewhere…

The sound of a car engine alerted him to Stiles’ arrival. Before Jackson could intercept them, the front door burst open carelessly, admitting one extremely wired werewolf and a patently amused Lydia. Scott shot up from the couch at the sudden noise; half asleep but already taking on a defensive crouch.

“Woah, man,” Stiles said, hands up. “Just us. Pull in the claws, Scott.”

Scott rubbed at his eyes and scrunched his face up, flopping back down onto the couch, face down. “I hate you. I was having the best dream…” he mumbled.

“Go back to sleep,” Jackson said softly, while glaring murderously at Stiles, who hid behind Lydia and did his best to look as innocent as a newborn lamb. It didn’t work.

Scott sighed into a cushion, and pushed himself back up. “Not yet. We’ve got that thing, remember?”

“…thing?”

“Yeah,” Scott said, inclining his head in Derek’s direction meaningfully. “The thing?”

Jackson rolled his eyes. “Derek, come out here. We need to talk to you.”

Derek took his good sweet time, blank faced and all the more intimidating for it when he did finally appear, filling the doorway with his bulky frame. “What?” he said flatly.

Scott took the initiative. “Those hunters vandalised Jackson’s car last night. Tell him, Jackson.”

Jackson floundered under Derek’s implacable expression, swallowing. “Not much to say, really. I went to unlock my Porsche this morning and there was a dead animal smeared all over it.”

“You see?” Scott said, flailing and fanatical. “We can’t keep letting this happen, Derek. They’re dangerous!”

Derek never wavered. “That doesn’t sound any different to me than what happened to your front door last week. That’s persistence, not escalation. You’re just upset because it was your mate this time.”

Scott was furious, and looked like he was about two seconds from smacking Derek in the face, but Stiles bravely inserted himself between the two of them before it could come to blows.

“You know what it sounds like to me?” Stiles said quietly, looking at Derek steadily. “It sounds like they’re making a damn mockery of us. They tossed a dead rat in my house with a note saying ‘Enjoy your free lunch, Dogboy’ four days ago. My dad was in the next room. They’re unimaginative, sure, but they’re doing their damnedest to piss us the fuck off. I’m sick of being shoved, Derek.”

Scott put a hand on Stiles wrist. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t want to worry anyone. They’ve targeted all of us now - what if they go after Lydia next? Or our parents?”

Derek sighed, careworn and suddenly weary. “You realise what could happen if we push back? We could start an all out war. All they want is a scrap of justification for putting us down like a pack of rabid dogs, and they’re trying their fucking best to provoke us into giving it.” They all fell silent, glum, and Derek levelled a menacing, razor sharp smile at them. “Rest assured, if they harm a hair on your heads - any of you - they’re dead meat, war or no war.”

Suddenly revenge didn’t seem so enticing.

“Jackson,” Derek said, breaking the sullen silence. “It’s past time someone patrolled the territory.”

Jackson grunted, pushed Scott back down onto the couch and pressed a quick goodbye kiss on top of his head. “Stiles, you’re coming with me.”

“What?” Stiles sputtered. “When did I agree to guard dog duty? I had plans…” He looked longingly at Lydia, like a kid who’d had his hand smacked away from a particularly tempting cookie jar.

“And your best friend hasn’t had a night off in weeks. Your point?” Jackson retaliated.

Stiles looked between Scott and Lydia guiltily, wincing. “Sorry, Lydia…”

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Lydia said, dropping ungracefully onto the couch. “You could have said something earlier, Jackson, before I dragged myself all the way over here.”

“You’ll get over it,” Jackson said flatly. “You,” he said, turning to Scott. “Go home and get some sleep. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. Go to bed.”

“I can’t. Not yet, anyway - I have homework to do. Unless you’ve changed your mind about me failing chemistry.”

Jackson turned a calculating gaze on his ex. “Well, Lydia’s a chemistry whiz, and she’s got nothing better to do -”

“Hey!” Lydia yelped, offended.

“- so she’ll help you out. Won’t you Lyd?”

Lydia didn’t even dare look at the guilty, puppyish expression on Scott’s face, just sighed, defeated. “Fine. Where’s your book, Scott?”

Satisfied everything would be taken care of in his absence, Jackson nodded at Stiles and headed off. Derek followed after, carefully closing the door behind him to muffle their voices. “I’ll stay here and guard the home. About a mile radius around the house is fine for your first night. If you run into trouble, howl and I’ll be there. ”

They nodded their assent and turned to go.

They scented the air and found the trail Scott and Derek had been using, and began loping through the woods, eyes glinting with animal shine in the fading light.

“So,” Stiles ventured after a while. “That was pretty selfless of you back there. Offering to take his place.”

Jackson snorted, amused. “You don’t have to sound so surprised.”

“No, really,” Stiles said, sounding almost amazed. “You’ve changed.” He laughed. “I thought Scott was crazy when I first realised how he felt about you. But you’ve…I don’t know, _grown_ , and it kind of turns out you’ve been pretty good for each other.”

Jackson swallowed down the instinctive sarcastic response that wanted to pass his lips and simply shrugged instead, warmed despite himself at Stiles’ tacit approval. Since when did he care what Stiles Stilinski thought of him?

They both paused when they heard a twig snap. Jackson cocked his head to listen better. Snapping twigs and crunching leaves; too heavy for a deer, too careless for a cougar. The scent of perfume wafted towards them. He listened and found a heartbeat, thumping in the girl’s chest. Jackson didn’t even think to howl. Instead, he pounced.

The girl yelped and fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs and dark hair when he tackled her. Jackson pinned her wrists to the ground and snarled. She tossed her hair to the side and looked up at him with big, startled doe eyes.

“Jackson?” Allison said, sounding relieved. She tried to move, but Jackson kept her pinned. She laughed uncomfortably. “Can I get up now?”

“No. Not until you tell me what you’re doing here.”

Stiles looked between the two of them uncertainly. “Don’t you think maybe you might be overreacting just a smidgeon, Jackson?”

“No, I think I caught a huntress prowling through our territory. A huntress who’s been hanging around with the creepy bastards that have been making our lives hell. Who’s probably in on it, for all we know. I think I’m showing proper caution.”

“I can explain, I swear,” Allison cried, squirming. “I need to see Scott. This is important - it effects all of you!”

Jackson narrowed his eyes, and listened. Her heartbeat was fast, but she didn’t seem to be lying. He released her wrists and stood up, backing off warily.

“So?” Stiles said expectantly, hopping from foot to foot with nervous energy. “What’s the deal?”

Allison rubbed her wrists, wincing. She shot Jackson a hurt look that would have made him feel like he’d spent the evening kicking a sack full of kittens, if he weren’t still suspicious of her motives. “Take me back to Derek’s and I’ll tell you everything. I don’t want to have to go through it twice,” she said, as if the prospect pained her.

They both looked at Jackson, waiting for approval. Their pleading, expectant brown eyes reminded him of Scott. He didn’t stand a chance. He gusted out a sigh, and prayed to God that the three of them never teamed up to do a repeat performance. “Fine. Come on then.”

***

“You see?” Scott said to Derek when Allison had finished her story. There was an unspoken ‘I told you so’ in there somewhere. “This is serious.”

They sat gathered around the kitchen table, letting Allison’s words sink in. Allison herself still looked a bit shaken.

Derek stared into the depths of his coffee cup, looking troubled. “Definitely rogues. I thought so. Say what you want about the main faction, but at least they have rules.  The fanatics might as well be dealing with a rat infestation, for all the moral quandary killing a werewolf gives them. Your father definitely doesn’t know about this, Allison?”

Allison shook her head. “He can’t stand them. If he had the authority he’d have run them off right at the start, but I get the feeling the higher ups aren’t too happy with him after that whole mess with Kate.”

Jackson huffed out a breath, frustrated. “This isn’t really anything we didn’t know before. Hunters hate us, want us either gone or dead. It doesn’t change anything. They still can’t move openly, and we still can’t do a whole fucking lot to defend ourselves.”

Stiles’ eyes widened, a smile creeping across his face as inspiration struck him. “ _We_ can’t, sure, but the other hunters can. You said they were acting pretty secretively about the whole thing, right?” he said to Allison. “And your dad didn’t know anything about the harassment?”

“Of course not,” she replied, scandalised.

Derek rolled his eyes. “Because harassment is so beneath Chris Argent. Tell that to my car windows, little girl.”

“To be fair, Derek,” Scott said, playing devil’s advocate, “he thought you were a serial killer at that point.”

“Guys, back to the point, please?” Stiles said, hands waving about in frustration. When everyone directed their attention back to him, he continued. “So these fundie-type hunters, they’re doing things that are pretty shady by the official rule book, right? Doesn’t it stand to reason that the hunting…I don’t know, government? Council?”

“It’s a council,” Allison interjected helpfully.

“Council,” Stiles reiterated, nodding. “So this council probably wouldn’t be all that happy with them if they knew what was going on, right?”

Lydia mulled that over, biting her lip. “They’ve lasted this long, and apparently they haven’t been punished yet. Either this council doesn’t care as much as Allison’s dad about the letter of the law, or they haven’t been presented with evidence yet.” Lydia’s eyes lit up in a way that seldom boded well for other people. She turned to Allison, grinning. “How’d you like to be James Bond for us, princess?”

Allison caught on, smiling wickedly. “Do I get a Martini and a hot himbo?”

“Allison!” Scott yelped, dismayed. “You can’t do that for us, it’s too dangerous. Seriously, Lydia, you want to send her in there amongst a pack of psychos to spy for us? What if they found out? What do you think they’d do to her, huh?”

“I’m not a child, Scott,” Allison snapped, and Scott promptly shut up. “I’ll make my own decisions, thanks. I’ve been trying to get in with them for weeks. It’s no more than I’ve already been doing, and it would be more suspicious to throw in the towel at this point anyway.” The anger bled from her voice, leaving only hurt. “Who do you think I am, Scott, that I’d walk away from my friends when they were in trouble? Do you think that little of me?”

“Of course not,” Scott said quietly, reaching for her hand, and Jackson felt too awkward to be jealous. Judging by the rest of them, shifting in their seats and looking anywhere but at Scott and Allison, they felt the same.

Allison pulled away after a second, taking a breath and steadying herself. “I may be human, but I’m not weak. I can look after myself. Trust me with this.”

Scott sighed. “Fine, but I still think it’s dangerous.”

Allison smiled briefly, still just the slightest bit strained. “I’m happy to do it. I don’t want to see you hurt,” she said, her voice so soft even werewolf ears strained to hear it.

Derek cleared his throat. “We’ll be in your debt,” he said, and it sounded laden with meaning. There was probably some ancient werewolf custom to go along with owing favours, Jackson thought, recognising the tone in Derek’s voice. He hoped there wasn’t some ridiculous ritual too.

Allison nodded at him, and stood to leave. “Don’t thank me yet - I’m pretty sure this whole plan requires my father’s participation, and that might take some doing,” she laughed. “Wish me luck.”

They all wished her goodnight, and Scott went to the door to speak to her privately. Jackson deliberately didn’t listen in. When she was gone, Jackson went to Scott. Scott put an arm round his waist and leaned on him heavily, whatever had been keeping him upright for so long suddenly leaving him. He closed his eyes and sighed softly against Jackson’s neck, breath tickling the edges of Jackson’s mark.

Jackson turned and kissed his hair. “Come on, I’ll take you home. It’s way past your bedtime.”

Scott grinned, trying for lascivious and ending up with tired and vaguely adorable. “Are you going to put me to bed?” He waggled his eyebrows. Jackson laughed.

“Sure,” Jackson said, indulgent, pulling Scott along to the Porsche. “I guess I can stay over at yours tonight. As long as you promise to set your alarm properly this time.”

Scott plonked down unceremoniously into the passenger seat and looked up at Jackson mock seriously, punch drunk from the fatigue that seemed to have hit him all at once. “Scout’s honour.”

Jackson scoffed, and got in the driver’s side, buckling up. “You were a scout for all of six months. Maybe I’ll set the alarm.” He looked over, and saw Scott was already fast asleep. He shook his head. “Never mind,” he murmured, smiling faintly.

He drove, and tried to think about the sweet idiot beside him and not the ball of dread in his stomach that grew every time he thought of all the people that wanted he and his family dead. He hoped Allison was strong enough to pull this off, for all their sakes.


	3. Stiles

Here was the thing about Stiles’ life lately: there were moments when he would make an incredible catch on the field, or get caught up in some minute, inordinately beautiful detail that a human eye shouldn’t be able to see, or Lydia smiled at him (at him!) and he’d think he must be the luckiest guy in the world. Then there were days like today, when his ADHD was out of control, his senses were intermittently going haywire, and there was a pick-up truck full of psychotic hunters following he and his dad to the grocery store.

Life had certainly took a turn for the stressful, Stiles thought as he glanced into the rear view mirror. Now that Allison was playing super secret double agent for them, he was even starting to tell his stalkers apart. The one with death ray lazer beam eyes, for example, was Hazel, and according to Allison she had a series of surveillance shots of each of them that she used for target practice. Stiles shuddered and tried to act normal.

“Is the AC up too high?” his dad asked, already fiddling with the controls.

“A little,” Stiles said, forcing a theatrical little shiver; anything to distract his law enforcement father from the people that had been tailing them since they left the house. The Duvals kept their distance as they parked next to the store.

Stiles hopped up onto the cart once they were inside, and pushed himself along as if it were a scooter. He knocked a box of Lucky Charms into the cart as he passed the cereal isle. His dad followed along in his wake, sedate, used to his son’s eccentricities. Stiles came to a stop in front of the spreads, giving the peanut butter the consideration it deserved.

“So. Hypothetically, if I were to cook dinner for someone tonight,” his dad said, so carefully light that Stiles whipped his head around to gape at him, “What would I cook?”

“Someone? As in, a female someone? Dad, do you have a _date_?”

His dad shrugged faintly, expression somewhere between hopeful and terrified. “If everything goes the way it’s supposed to. Well, really we’re getting together to discuss some…shared concerns, but there was subtext. Definite subtext.” He looked at Stiles, suddenly concerned. “Why? Would it be a problem? Is it too soon?”

“No! No, it is in no way too soon, dad,” Stiles replied, letting out an uncomfortable laugh. God, was it wrong that he’d completely failed to consider this kind of situation before? Shit, it had been _years_ , and his dad wasn’t some kind of monk. His smile widened to ridiculous proportions. Maybe he was overcompensating. “I’m happy for you. Really.” Well, he would be. Once he wrapped his brain around it, that was.

His dad smiled, relieved. “Good to know.”

They wandered down into the next isle. Stiles flicked his eyes between the array of coffee beans and his dad. “So,” he said, tentative. “Do I know the lucky lady?”

His dad barked out a short laugh. “Yeah, you could say that. It’s Melissa McCall, actually.”

Stiles stopped dead in his tracks. Oh, this was not good. This was beyond not good - this was _disastrous_. All of he and Scott’s werewolf related excuses more or less completely relied upon their parents’ complete and total lack of communication. He watched as his dad’s face fell, and quickly schooled his expression into something less horrified. “That’s - great. Fantastic!”

His dad shook his head, in that ‘I don’t understand you one bit, but I love you’ way he had. “It’s fine, Stiles, you don’t have to pretend. It’ll take some getting used to, I know. That’s if it even works out. I’m kind of out of practice, after all…”

Stiles put his hand on his dad’s shoulder, suddenly serious. “If Scott’s mom has any sense at all she’ll grab onto you and never let go. You’re awesome. I mean, what woman doesn’t like a guy in uniform?”

His dad chuckled. “Yeah? Let’s hope so.” Stiles pretended not to notice the relieved slump of his shoulders. “Come on then, help me pick out something easy to cook for tonight.”

They decided on seared tuna steaks and steamed veggies, because hey, even his dad could operate a timed steamer, right? He decided to make sure the smoke alarm had nice fresh batteries, just in case. There was a reason he and Scott did most of the cooking in their households.

They walked leisurely back to the car, Stiles’ eyes darting around as he searched for the Duvals’ pickup. Either they’d got bored waiting, or they’d decided to be a little less obvious whilst stalking the local sheriff, because their dirty great monstrosity was nowhere in sight.

“So,” his dad said as he began loading their groceries in the trunk, “do you think maybe you could find someplace else to be later on?”

“Sure. There’s a movie me and Scott wanted to see we could go to; that’d get us out of your hair for a few hours.” He fumbled with the milk, almost dropping it as a thought occurred to him. “Unless - Jesus, she isn’t spending the night, is she?” he blurted, horrified.

His dad laughed, rubbing the back of his neck as he closed the trunk again. “Well, I hadn’t planned on it, but…”

‘ _Dear Lord, let me not be scarred for life by the mental images…oh God, he’s looking at me like I’m supposed to say something. Say something, stupid brain!_ ’ “Do you want me to stay over with Scott?” he blurted eventually, voice shrill. Oh, that was smooth, Stiles.

His dad laughed at him. “I’m kidding. Don’t have a heart attack on me.”

Stiles refrained from an audible ‘thank God,’ but couldn’t help the relieved sigh. And now he felt like an unsupportive tool. He got in the passenger seat and looked over at his dad, trying to find something encouraging to say. “Look, I know I’m kind of in a state of shock over this at the moment, but I’m happy for you. Really. And I hope it works out for you, because you totally deserve someone, and Ms. McCall’s a rad lady. So, I guess what I’m trying to say is good luck.”

His dad swallowed a couple of times, looking a little choked up. “Thanks,” he said after a minute, voice soft and loving. “You’re a good kid, Stiles.”

All that did was make Stiles feel even more guilty than he already did for the constant, ever more elaborate lies he continued to spew to his father about all the werewolf crap.

At least he wasn’t lying when he told him he was going to study with a friend this evening. If his dad were to infer that the friend was Scott and not Lydia, that totally wasn’t his fault…

At first his dad had been over the moon for him that he was dating the smartest, most beautiful girl in school, but now about half of his grades were in the shitter, and his dad kept doing that guilt inducing frowny face when Stiles mentioned going to her house to study.

He couldn’t very well tell his father that his worsening grades were the result of his new werewolf physiology. Lycanthropy had cured Scott’s asthma, but apparently brain disorders were beyond its capabilities; if anything, Stiles’ ADHD was worse, since his new body metabolised the medication twice as fast as it used to. Since he didn’t want to look like he was dealing Adderall, he now had to ration his supply or risk running out altogether. He tried to save his meds for school, but there were times with the pack that he needed to be able to concentrate, so he didn’t always have enough.

None of that was Lydia’s fault in the slightest, but it was easier to let her take the blame in his father’s eyes. He was still passing most of his classes (barely, in some cases), so provided he pulled off some stunning scores in his finals, he figured his dad would get over it. Maybe he _should_ find an Adderall dealer…

He met up with Lydia at a little coffee place she liked; out of the way and quiet. It was all dim lighting and painfully hip music inside, and usually occupied by pretentious hipster types. Lydia said she liked the local artists they showcased here. She was studying an oil painting of a dark woodland landscape when he got there, lost in the twisted shapes and violent splashes of colour.

He got his order (‘Strong black coffee. About a million sugars. Did I mention strong?’) and made his way over. “Those don’t look like happy little trees to me,” he said, surprising her.

She smiled brightly, and turned back to the painting, considering. “Hmm. Murderous little trees, maybe. Bob Ross it is _not_.” She chuckled. She pulled him down to sit beside her, leaning into him easily and offering a bite of her cupcake. He took it, feeling a little awkward at the PDA. Lydia darted in and kissed the tip of his nose, making him blush. All her open, unselfconscious affection took some getting used to.

“Did you remember your books?”

“Unfortunately,” Stiles said, sighing, and pulled a stack of books out of his backpack.

“Meds?”

He took out his pitifully small bottle of Adderall and shook it, despairing at how little there was left already. “Check.” He took a pill and then a gargantuan gulp of coffee to wash it down.

They got to work, and Stiles tried his hardest, really he did, but his mind couldn’t help but wander after a while. He slammed his book shut with a grunt. “You know the worst part? I know this shit - I just can’t make myself focus on it.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Lydia said comfortingly, rubbing the back of his hand. “You said it yourself - you know this stuff. Just take a metric shit ton of pills before all your finals and you’ll be fine.”

Stiles sighed. “It’s finding a metric shit ton of pills that’s the problem. I guess I can try to mainline caffeine to tide me over. Though I’m not a fan of the constant bathroom breaks, I’ve got to be honest.”

Lydia gave a sympathetic wince. “I’m sorry. I wish there was some way I could help.” She paused, and then a thoughtful, vaguely guilty look crossed her face. “If you’d maybe want to try some uppers, I know a guy that knows a guy.”

He had to admit: he seriously considered it for a moment. Weighed the constantly wandering attention, inability to finish much of anything, and the way his bouts of hyperfocus and his acute werewolf senses made for a dangerous combination, against the risk of getting himself hooked on cocaine or meth. What it came down to, in the end, wasn’t any risk to himself, but what his dad would think if he found out. He couldn’t let him down like that.

What he said was, “And wind up one of those poor saps in a ‘faces of meth’ campaign? I think not. I think I’ll just stick with coffee and Red Bull.”

Lydia shrugged, and looked, if anything, even a little relieved. “So. I guess we should try to go over the math problems again.”

Stiles groaned. “Yay, a series of meaningless numbers! My favourite!” Lydia, the future Fields medallist, gave him a highly offended look, and he quickly amended, “It’s my favourite because math is awesome! And not at all meaningless or inconsequential!”

“Damn right,” Lydia said, and pulled him in for a kiss so thorough Stiles forgot to be embarrassed. Then Lydia’s phone rang, and she pulled back with an apologetic smile. Stiles wished his werewolf powers included the ability to set objects on fire with his mind.

“Hey, Allison, what’s up?”

Stiles banged his head on the table. This would probably be a while. He let his mind drift, imagining a world where girls didn’t call each other to relate each and every detail of what went on in their lives. He was just getting into the socio-political ramifications when Lydia slammed a heavy book shut beside his head, startling him.

She was looking at him, eyebrow raised, like she’d been trying to get his attention for some time. “You back with me now?”

Stiles blinked back into focus and sat up straight. “What? What’d I miss?”

Lydia looked around, checking for eavesdroppers, and Stiles’ attention suddenly returned full force. Something had happened.

“You need to call Derek and arrange a meeting as soon as possible,” she said, leaning in close to speak quietly. “There was some kind of livestock mutilation out on some farm, and Allison says the Duval group seems to be in a hell of a tizzy about it. She thinks they’re up to something.”

Stiles swallowed. “I’m on it,” he said, and pulled out his phone. He never thought he’d see the day he’d have Derek Hale on speed dial. “Derek? Tonight. Something big might be going down. I’ll call Scott.”

He looked at Lydia wordlessly when he was done making calls, and started gathering their things. He never imagined, on any of the countless occasions he’d daydreamed about what dating Lydia might be like, that their time together would be frequently marked by danger and all kinds of portents of doom. Fuck his life, seriously.

They were walking towards Stiles’ jeep when a black SUV pulled up beside them. They ignored it, but the car drove alongside them at a creeping pace, and the driver rolled down his window to hurl abuse at them.

“Woof!”

Oh, that was original. Lydia put a hand on Stiles’ arm, and it was enough to keep him from turning to the asshole in the car and giving him a piece of his mind (if not his claws).

“What’re you doing with that dog, Red?” the Dick said, grinning lasciviously, hanging half out the window. “Don’t you want a real man, baby?”

Lydia held Stiles back and slapped a sugary smile on her face. “Oh, that’s funny, because the only real man I see around here is standing next to me.”

The Dick pushed his greasy brown hair back from his face, letting his creepy smile grow wider. “Oh, that’s right. You like lying with animals, don’t you honey? Wouldn’t know a real man if he smacked you in the face.”

Stiles roared, lunging forward without thought. Lydia darted in in front of him and pushed him back. His wolf retreated in the face of Lydia’s frantic expression, and he came back to himself. The Dick was laughing.

“You see? What’d I say, honey? Nothing more than an animal. Don’t worry - it’ll get what’s coming to it, sooner or later.”

Stiles arm shot out without his conscious knowledge, fingers clawed, and grasped at air. The asshole had already driven off. Stiles growled after him.

“Stiles!” Lydia cried, and stamped her high heeled shoe into his foot.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“Huh. Jackson was right - that totally works,” she said to herself. “You were wolfing out.”

“Did you hear what he said? I can’t let them get away with that shit -”

“You can’t let them goad you into this shit in _public_! If anyone had _seen_ -”

Stiles took her hand in his. “They didn’t, thank God. But yeah, you’re right.”

She offered him a smile. “I’m always right, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

He didn’t argue, just held onto her hand and continued on to the jeep, letting her touch and her heartbeat and her scent calm the raging beast inside. He didn’t tell her he’d do it again in a second, if he thought she was in danger.

***

The pack sat around Derek’s kitchen table as Stiles fiddled with Derek’s new computer, setting up a Skype videoconference with Allison. The deeper down the rabbit hole she went, the more dangerous it was for her to be caught fraternizing with the enemy. So, outside of school hours, Skype it was.

“Are you nearly done?” Derek griped. “I’d like to know what the hell’s going on sometime today.”

Stiles poked his tongue out as he worked. “Aaand…done. There we go... woah, you’re not Allison,” he yelped as Chris Argent’s face appeared on the screen, peering doubtfully into the webcam.

“Is this thing on..?”

“Yeah, we got you, Mr. Argent. Though you don’t have to sit quite so close,” Stiles said. He didn’t want to have to tell the guy he could count his individual nose hairs right now.

Mr. Argent backed off a bit. “This better? Allison showed me how to work this thing, but I’m not sure how much of it sank in,” he said with a self-deprecating smile.

“Where’s Allison?” Derek asked, visibly twitching at having to communicate directly with Chris Argent.

A shadow crossed Mr. Argent’s face. “Off doing something I told her not to, as usual. She’s trying to find out some more info. Hopefully not putting herself in danger.”

“Not that I’m not grateful -” Derek said tersely, sounding about the opposite of grateful, in all actuality - “but could we get to the point? What’s going on?”

Mr. Argent’s lips pressed into a thin line. “A smallholder went to feed his sheep today and found half his flock slaughtered in their pen. They’ve already had the vet out to inspect the bodies; he told the guy it was most likely a pack of loose dogs. It’s funny though - there were no animal tracks, except for the sheep’s. Little odd, considering it rained last night.”

“We don’t feed on livestock. It wasn’t us,” Derek said, defensive.

“I know that. You’d have to be some kind of moron to bring that kind of attention down on your head when you’re being watched like a hawk. Allison says the Duval boy and girl are acting suspicious; she thinks they have something to do with it. You can be sure their little faction will be calling for your blood over this.”

Derek nodded, troubled. “Thanks for letting us know.”

“No problem,” Mr. Argent replied. He flicked his eyes at the rest of them. “We’ll be in contact again when Allison comes back. And watch out for those kids, Hale.”

Derek almost growled. “Of course. I’m the alpha - that’s what we do.”

Mr. Argent looked somewhat incredulous - since most of his experience with alphas came from the deranged kind - but nodded abruptly, and severed the connection.

Stiles looked at Scott. “My dad must have been called out to the scene, so they couldn’t have been found that long ago - he didn’t mention this earlier. I can see if I can misappropriate his files without him noticing later.”

“Maybe I could call Dr. Deaton, see if we can go take a look at the bodies?” Scott suggested.

Stiles nodded, a little excited despite the fact that they were all in deep shit. “CSI time!”

Derek looked between the two of them, part amused, but mostly just exasperated. “Were either of you going to ask first before you went off playing Detective Columbo?”

They looked at him blankly. “Who’s that?”

Lydia laughed at Derek’s dumbstruck expression. “Damn, Hale, showing your age there!”

“Oh come on!” Derek cried defensively. “You’ve never watched Columbo reruns? Never?”

Stiles and Scott shared a look, and shook their heads. “Anyway,” Stiles said, getting them back on track, “I think Scott and I should go to the vet’s clinic and see if we can’t find anything out. If we’re being watched, Scott’s got a pretty good excuse for being there, at least. Any objections?”

Jackson raised his hand facetiously. “What are the rest of us supposed to do while you two are off examining mutilated animal corpses? Sit here scratching our asses?”

“Well, it’d be kind of suspicious if we all went,” Scott said, shrugging. He turned to Jackson and lowered his voice. “We’ll be careful, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Jackson gave Scott a hard look. “You better be. Don’t do anything stupid.”

Scott smiled. “Who, me? Never. Wait up for us?”

Jackson sighed. “Sure.”

Lydia rose to her feet. “Never fear, Jackson, you won’t be bored. Guess what I brought?” She pulled a copy of The Notebook out of her backpack, an evil grin on her face. “I was planning on watching this with Stiles later, but if he’s going to be gone a while…”

Wow, Stiles had dodged a bullet right there. Poor Jackson.

“No. No freaking way, Lydia! Not again!”

“What the hell is The Notebook?” Derek demanded.

“Oh, you’re in for a treat, Hale,” Stiles said wickedly. “We’ll just be going then…”

Scott gave Jackson a pitying backwards glance as they left. He slid into the passenger side of Stiles’ jeep. “That was wrong. Never leave a man down, Stiles.”

“Yeah, that’s the marines, Scott. Better them than us, I say.”

Scott shrugged and pulled out his phone to call Dr. Deaton. Stiles drove in silence, and waited until he hung up before broaching the subject of their parents. “So,” he said, trying for nonchalant. “Did your mom look like she was heading out somewhere tonight?”

Scott raised an eyebrow, surprised. “How’d you know? Yeah, she’s got a date.”

“So’s my dad.”

“Huh. That’s weird.” A horror struck expression crossed Scott’s face as it dawned on him what Stiles meant. “Oh my God.”

“I know, right?”

Scott hid his face in his hands. “This can’t be happening.”

“My dad said…oh shit.” He’d said they were getting together to talk over ‘shared concerns’. There was only one thing that could mean. “They’re totally talking about us.” They’d know their kids had been giving them the run around in minutes. He couldn’t count the amount of wolf related lies he’d explained away using Scott as an excuse.

Scott groaned. “We’re doomed.”

“We’ll just tell them we’re on drugs.” Scott gave him a disbelieving stare. “Or maybe not. It’s okay, we’ll think of something. Somehow.” He let out a monumental sigh.

They let the conversation drop when they arrived at the vet’s clinic. Dr. Deaton was waiting for them when they arrived, a dead sheep already laid out on the surgical table for them to look at.

“I figured I’d save some time,” he said with a half smile, and turned the animal towards them. “You mind letting me in on just what the hell’s going on here?”

“We didn’t do it,” Scott insisted, face earnest and upset.

“I know that.” Dr. Deaton moved to take a closer look at the body, motioning at the wounds on the animal’s back legs. “Wolves attack the flanks - they’re trying to bring down their prey. That’s usually followed by disembowelment.”

“In that case, I’ve got to say, this actually looks like a wolf might have done it,” Stiles ventured, looking at the string of guts poking out from the sheep’s belly, growing concerned.

The vet shook his head. “At first glance, yeah, that’s what it looks like. The thing is, wolves don’t really kill for sport - they won’t mutilate an animal and then not eat from it, unless they’re interrupted. Neither do werewolves, unless they’ve got some kind of grudge against the farmer. That’s why I told your dad it might have been dogs. Then I got a closer look and noticed this.” He motioned them closer and pointed to a slash mark in the animal’s leg.

It was a wound, gaping and red in the sheep’s white fleece. “Okay, what am I looking at?”

Scott leaned in closer than Stiles would have been comfortable with, studying the wound carefully. “These aren’t teeth marks at all.”

Dr. Deaton nodded. “Right. The edges are too clean.”

“…literally. Say a predator came running at this sheep and took a chunk out of it. Shouldn’t there be more blood?”

“Right again. I see I’ve taught you well, Scott. These wounds,” Dr. Deaton said, indicating the sheep, “were inflicted post mortem, probably with a knife. Whoever did it certainly wanted it to look like a wolf attack, though.”

Stiles ran his eyes over the sheep, letting his sharp eyes search for clues. There. On the foreleg, so small as to be almost completely unnoticeable, was a drop of blood. “I think I found cause of death. Injection site?”

Dr. Deaton moved to take a closer look. “I think you’re right. I haven’t completed a tox report yet, but I wouldn’t rule out poison. That or induced pulmonary embolism. All that takes is a syringe full of air.”

Scott looked at Stiles, face serious. “We need to let Allison know about this.”

Stiles nodded. “Bets on the Manson twins being behind this?”

“I wouldn’t bet on a sure thing. C’mon, we need to go back to Derek’s,” Scott said. “Thanks again, Dr. Deaton.”

“No problem. Let me know if you want me to let the sheriff know about any of this.”

Scott nodded, already leaving. “Will do. I owe you.”

They hadn’t been driving long when Scott’s phone rang.

“Yeah? Hey, Derek.” A long pause. “Alright, we’re on our way.” Scott hung up again. “Allison’s home. Jackson’s got the videoconference all set up already. You want to step on the gas?”

Stiles looked into the rear view mirror. A set of headlights dazzled his sensitive eyes. It had been following them for a while now, long enough that it was starting to feel less and less like a coincidence. “Does that car look familiar to you?”

Scott turned round in his seat, squinting as he strained to make out the vehicle behind them. “It’s the Duvals’ pickup. Shit. What should we do?”

Stiles cursed under his breath. “What _can_ we do?” He took a moment to calm down, and thought of it rationally. “Right. Well, it’s not the first time they’ve played stalker with us, and it’s not like they’re going to run us off the road, so I guess we just continue on as normal.”

Scott looked at him uncertainly, sparing a glance backwards. “Normal. Sure.”

“…as normal as we can with a pair of sheep murdering psychos on our tail, yeah.” The sooner they got to Derek’s the better, so Stiles put his foot on the gas.

It didn’t seem to matter how fast he went - the Duvals were right behind them. Funny how the one night he needed them, there were none of his dad’s minions lying in wait to ticket unsuspecting drivers. They were approaching the edge of town now, and that was another thing to add to the ‘Not Good’ pile. No more streetlights. No more witnesses.

Stiles drove on, despite the growing unease. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Beside him, Scott’s eyes flashed gold in the dark as he darted glances backwards. “Hey, what are they -”

Suddenly they were thrown forward as the jeep was rammed from behind. “Holy shit!” Stiles yelled as he struggled to right the car.

“Step on it!”

“I am!” Stiles floored it. Behind them, the Duvals did the same. Stiles pulled off to the left when the pickup surged forward again.

“Stiles, look out!”

Then suddenly there was a white tailed buck in the middle of the road, looking right at them, frozen in fear. Stiles swerved wildly to avoid it, veering right off the road. He had a split second to appreciate the tremendous irony before they slammed full on into a tree trunk.

He passed out for a moment, blinking awake to the sound of Scott groaning pitifully beside him. “I think you broke my neck…”

“ _I_ broke - you know, forget it. Wait, can you move? You’re not, like, paralyzed or anything?”

Scott closed his eyes and massaged his neck carefully with both hands. “Just give me a second. Whatever it is, it’s healing.”

“Probably whiplash, you dolt.” Thank god - he’d been scared for a minute there. Stiles took a moment to take stock of his own injuries (mild and/or healing) before he remembered _why_ they’d crashed in the first place. “Scott, where are the Duvals?”

Scott whipped his head around to look, wincing as he strained his healing neck. He unbuckled his seatbelt. “Maybe we should get out and check…”

They got out and looked up at the verge where they’d gone off the road. As if the occupants had been waiting for them, a set of spotlights on top of the pickup truck flicked on, blinding them.

“Scott, I can’t see!” His eyes actually _hurt_. He screwed them closed, stumbling. Shit, what could he do to defend himself if he was _blind_?

“Turn away and let your eyes adjust. When you turn round again, don’t look directly at the lights,” Scott’s voice instructed, somewhere to his left. Stiles tried to calm himself, and did as Scott said.

“All alone, boys?” a woman’s voice called down to them.

Stiles blinked his sore eyes and raised a hand to cover his face as he looked back. Hazel and Caleb Duval were standing at the edge of the verge, rifles in hand.

Scott, monumental dumbass that he was, actually stepped forward, hands up to show he was unarmed. “We haven’t hurt anyone. We’re minors and we’ve never spilled human blood. Think before you do anything stupid here.”

Caleb snorted derisively. “You haven’t spilled human blood _yet_. You things are all the same, sooner or later you’ll get a taste for it. I mean look at what you did to that livestock.”

Stiles scoffed, offended. “Unbelievable. We _know_ that was you. What the hell were you trying to accomplish there anyway?”

Hazel smirked. “It got us an authorization to give you freaks a warning. Of course, if we happen to be attacked by two savage wolves while we’re giving it, the council won’t penalise us for defending ourselves…”

Stiles looked to Scott. Scott flicked his eyes to the side, motioning at the Duvals, indicating…something Stiles didn’t understand. If they made it through this, they were so going to devise a series of elaborate hand signals for this kind of situation.

“An execution, then,” Scott said, voice rumbling and growling as he shifted, eyes glowing gold in the dark. He grinned, feral. “I hope you don’t think we’re going down without a fight.” He leapt at them.

Caleb ducked out of Scott’s grasp, fumbling his weapon. Hazel raised her gun, and without thought Stiles shifted and threw himself into the fray, shoving Hazel to the ground as she got off a round. The bullet ricocheted off a tree trunk.

“You little shit!” she cried, pulling herself up and cocking her gun once more.

A gun fired off a shot into the air and all of them froze, looking for the source. Stiles couldn’t believe his eyes: like the cavalry coming over the hill, there was his dad, standing next to Melissa McCall’s car, gun in hand. “Anyone care to tell me just what the hell is going on here?”

The Duvals turned tail and ran for their pickup, leaving their weapons where they lay.

Stiles looked at his dad. “What, no ‘Stop or I’ll shoot?’” he said, all bluster to hide the waver in his voice.

His dad pulled him into a bone-crushing hug. “God, you scared the shit out of me.”

Beside them, Melissa McCall flung herself at her son so hard she almost knocked him over, arms already squeezing the life out of him. “Mom,” Scott squeaked. “I can’t breathe!”

Melissa drew back enough to look at her boy, tears in her eyes, and whapped him on the shoulder. “That’s for scaring the crap out of me. God, what the hell _happened_ here? Were they trying to kill you? And why are your eyes glowing?”

Scott and Stiles looked at each other over their parents’ shoulders, silently communicating. How in the hell were they going to explain this?


	4. Jackson

The first thing Jackson noticed upon waking wasn’t - despite Scott’s growing skill - the wonderful wet mouth on his cock, but the enticing smell of bacon wafting from downstairs. He closed his eyes, curled his toes, and sighed. Right now, life was good.

His stomach had just about dropped down to his toes when Scott and Stiles had returned from the vet’s the other week with their parents in tow, and he’d nearly had an aneurysm when Scott let it slip that, in addition to the whole werewolf thing, he’d told his mom about them too.

Somehow he’d thought Ms. McCall would be a whole lot angrier about the fact that he was sleeping with her teenage son. As it was, they got a long lecture about safety, replete with a bag full of condoms and lube, and a nice new lock for Scott’s bedroom door. Scott had turned an interesting shade of red during the ordeal, but Jackson counted himself lucky. He supposed ‘werewolf with people trying to kill him’ trumped ‘bi and sexually active.’

He groaned as a wave of pleasure hit him, twining his fingers in Scott’s damp hair and tugging, warning him he was close. There had been an unfortunate incident (never to be spoken of again on pain of death) the last time he neglected to warn Scott, so he was careful of that now.

Jackson came with a muffled groan, and Scott swallowed dutifully, though judging from the little scrunch of his nose, he hadn’t warmed to the taste any.

Jackson lay still for a moment, carding his fingers through Scott’s hair gently while he got his breath back. Scott crawled up over him and leaned in for a kiss, grinning and obviously proud of himself. Jackson couldn’t help but smile against his lips, then grimaced as he tasted himself.

“See! I told you it was bad!” Scott crowed, triumphant.

“..I thought you were exaggerating. Maybe I should start eating pineapple?”

Scott raised a brow at him. “You think?”

“You don’t have to be smug about it,” Jackson grumbled, then remembered he’d kind of left his boyfriend hanging. “Do you want me to..?”

“What? Oh, no, that’s okay. I took care of it in the shower. Thanks anyway.” Scott leaned in and gave Jackson another peck on the lips, then abruptly got up and started dressing. “Do you mind if I go on without you? I have my English final today, and I said I’d meet up with Stiles early to go over it.”

Jackson rubbed the last traces of sleep from his eyes. “Sure. That’s your last one, right?” Jackson was taking his history final - the last of many - today.

“Yes, thank God,” Scott said, pulling his Henley over his head and grabbing his book bag from the pile of indeterminate junk on the floor. “Worrying about people trying to kill me is more than enough without exam papers on top of it.” He leaned down for a kiss and turned to go. “Bye.”

“Aren’t you going to eat? I’m pretty sure your mom made you breakfast.”

“I don’t have time. Why don’t you sit down with her? She’s always hinting about not getting to speak to you.”

Jackson turned horrified eyes on Scott. “Oh, no. No freaking way.”

Scott turned the puppy eyes on him. He tried to resist, really he did, but he was no match for that sad, ever so slightly disappointed expression. Jackson sighed. “Fine.”

Scott grinned. “You’re the best. You’ll be fine - she likes you.” Before Jackson had the chance to protest, Scott was away, thundering down the stairs, banging the door as he left.

So he’d forced himself out of bed, and spent the next half hour eating cremated bacon and rubbery eggs, all the while dodging questions about Scott, his family background, his intentions (his _intentions_ , for God’s sake!) Still, Melissa McCall had been pretty lenient with the two of them, so he forced himself to grin and bear it. Scott owed him, though. Boy, did he owe him.

He escaped (mostly) none the worse for wear, and drove to school, making note of the pickup truck tailing him. Just the sight of it was enough to rouse the wolf in the back of his head, bristling with frustrated anger. It galled, to have to sit back and do nothing while the bastards who’d tried to execute his mate walked free. _Soon_ , he told the beast inside of him. _They’ll get what’s coming to them soon_. Small comfort that was.

Jackson sailed through his history final, knowing that, at least, was something he didn’t have to worry about. At lunchtime he ran into Danny - literally - and braced himself for the verbal smackdown he so richly deserved.

Danny just raised an eyebrow and gave him a sad smile. “Don’t worry, Jackson, you don’t have to sell me any excuses today - I’m spending lunch cramming in the library. I’ve got Spanish this afternoon.”

“Danny -”

“You know, if you don’t want to be friends with me anymore I wish you’d just come right out and say it. I can’t take anymore of this middle school cliquey bullshit.”

Jackson swallowed around the lump in his throat. He’d been best friends with Danny since they were kids, but he didn’t know what to say that could make this better without letting him in on a lot of shit that could put him in danger. “I am your friend. I just have a lot of stuff going on right now.”

Danny shook his head, looking disappointed. “And you can’t tell me what it is, right? Yeah, whatever. Drop me a line when you grow up, Whittemore.”

Jackson watched Danny’s retreating back, feeling like he’d been kicked in the nuts. He got his lunch, took it outside to sit under their sycamore tree, and picked mournfully at his sandwich until Scott arrived, flopping down beside him and gusting out a sigh.

Jackson summoned a smile up from somewhere, finding comfort in Scott’s familiar weight at his side. Right at that moment, he didn’t give a shit who saw. Let them talk. “So, how do you think you did?”

Scott scrunched his face up. “Not, like, abysmally -”

“Good word.”

“- but I don’t know. Better than I would have done without your help.” Scott smiled sweetly for him. “Did I ever really thank you for the tutoring? Coach Finstock hasn’t called me stupid in months!”

Jackson frowned. “You’re not stupid.” Oh, how he would have argued that point six months ago. “Just -”

“Dense?”

Jackson winced. “I’d have went with oblivious and kind of scatter brained…”

Scott laughed, and Jackson felt the sting of Danny’s words start to fade a little. He’d never felt this way before; where just being near someone could make him feel better. Where the thought of being without them twisted his stomach into knots. He still wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or not - to be so dependant on someone else.

They were interrupted by a pair of trudging feet and a weary sigh. Allison dropped gracelessly to the ground across from them with a listless, “Hi, guys.” She leaned back against the tree trunk and closed her eyes. She looked stressed, to say the least.

“Hey, Allison,” Scott replied, looking concerned. “Everything okay?”

Allison didn’t open her eyes. “Mmm. This is the only time of the day I don’t have to hang out with a bunch of homicidal maniacs. This is downtime.”

“That must suck,” Scott commiserated.

Allison opened her eyes. “You have no idea. The worst thing is having to play along with it. Acting like the things Kate did weren’t sickening, and like my dad’s some kind of hippie, bleeding heart liberal just for not automatically wanting you all dead.”

“Any news?” Jackson asked, feeling only a little bit bad for just wanting to cut to the chase. He needed to know.

Allison pulled herself up to attention, ready to focus on business. “You know the story they told the council? That you attacked them unprovoked? The council reached a verdict today. They ruled insufficient evidence. The Duvals know my dad had a hand in it, and they are _pissed_. They’re up to something, I just don’t know what.”

Jackson frowned. “Is there no way you can find out what they’ve got planned?”

Allison shrugged apologetically. “They’re still cagey with me sometimes. I don’t think they trust me completely yet, probably because of my dad.”

Scott looked thoughtful. Then he started to smile, and Jackson knew enough about that particular expression to be worried. “What?” he asked. “What harebrained idea’s popped into your head now?”

Scott scowled at him. “It’s a perfectly awesome idea, actually.”

Jackson sighed. “Okay, I’ll bite. What exactly is this perfectly awesome idea?”

“Well, think about it - we’ve got super senses, and we’re fast and agile. Why can’t we just go up there in stealth mode and spy on them ourselves? They’d never know we were there. ”

“Because that would be incredibly dangerous?” Allison reminded him, sounding alarmed. “Wouldn’t it, Jackson? Jackson?”

Jackson just looked at Scott thoughtfully, chewing his lip. He inclined his head. “That’s…actually not that bad an idea. A little risky -”

“A little!”

“- but what other shot have we of finding out what they’re planning for us? We wouldn’t even have to be all that close. Is there a rooftop nearby we could use?”

Allison shook her head insistently. “I want no part of this. You’ll get yourselves killed!”

Scott reached for her hand. “We won’t. If you don’t want to help, that’s fine, I understand - just don’t tell Derek? Please?”

Allison took a deep breath. “I still think it’s stupid, but fine, I won’t tell Derek. At least promise you’ll be careful?”

“I promise. We both do,” Scott said, looking to Jackson for confirmation.

Jackson nodded. “After school then.”

That agreed, they moved on, eating their lunch, and if the conversation was somewhat strained, no-one mentioned it. The bell announced the end of lunch break, and Allison left them, shooting them worried glances over her shoulder.

After school, Jackson and Scott met up, both dressed head to toe in black. Looking each other up and down, they realised they looked like they were about to go out and burgle someone’s home.

“We look ridiculous, don’t we?” Scott admitted sheepishly.

Jackson couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s not even dark!”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time?” Scott shrugged, tugging at the neck of his ridiculously out of season sweater. “Whatever. You ready to go?”

Jackson checked his cargo pants for his cell phone, then nodded. “As I’ll ever be. Let’s go.”

The old community hall the Duval group used was kind of out of the way, and, like all the abandoned buildings surrounding it, in a state of disrepair. There was one window in the entire building that wasn’t boarded up, and they chose a spot where they could see through it, on top of a crumbling department store that had closed down sometime in the seventies.

Scott squinted across at the community hall, a hand to his eyes to shade them from the setting sun. He’d already abandoned his black sweater in the sweltering summer heat. “I don’t think there’s anyone here yet.”

“Then we’ll just have to wait,” Jackson said. He sat down and tried to make himself comfortable. A pair of eyes glowed at him from a pile of junk nearby. A scruffy white cat stalked into the light only to bristle and hiss at him. “Fuck you too,” he muttered.

Scott narrowed his eyes at the cat and growled. It yowled and made itself scarce. “They don’t seem to like big predators like us,” Scott explained with a faint shrug. “You wouldn’t believe how much harder my job is now that cats think I’m Satan incarnate. I have to bribe them with catnip just to feed the ungrateful little shits.”

Jackson laughed, and ruffled Scott’s hair. The setting sun had cast a golden hue to his skin, and Jackson couldn’t help but trail his fingers down the line of his throat; the curve of his shoulder; mesmerised at the play of light on the familiar angles of Scott’s body.  Scott shuddered, breath catching, and Jackson smiled.

The squeal of car tyres interrupted them, and Jackson cursed. One more reason to hate the Duvals.

The Duval twins got out of their pickup truck, closely followed by their mother, perfectly prim in a lavender business suit, a little moue of dissatisfaction marring her exquisitely made up face. She marched silently into the hall, her spawn following at her heels. Jackson and Scott settled in to watch.

For a while, the only thing to happen of note was Diana Duval pacing behind the pulpit, muttering incomprehensibly to herself.

“What the hell is she doing?” Scott asked.

“Rehearsing a speech, I think.”

Then the other hunters began arriving, and Duval abandoned her pacing to take up the position of gracious host, smiling robotically and shaking hands with everyone as they entered. Jackson couldn’t get over how normal they seemed. A couple of them could have gone to school with him, they looked so young.

For a while it was chaos in there, and Jackson couldn’t even begin to focus in on one voice amongst the cacophony. Then someone gave a genteel little clearing of the throat, and the hall settled into silence. Diana Duval appeared once again behind the old church pulpit, smiling her wide, creepy smile.

“Thank you all for coming,” she began, taking on a serious tone. “As you all know, the twins were attacked, unprovoked, by a pair of wolf pups. We went through the official channels, but as usual, the council wants us to sit on our asses while a bunch of beasts continue to flout our authority.”

A collective murmur of angry voices went up. Beside him, Scott growled, and Jackson elbowed him in the side. Scott gave him a wounded look, but returned his attention to the window.

Duval seemed to gather herself, nodding. “My friends, I put it to you that the council has failed us. These beasts have proven themselves dangerous, and the council refuses to see sense. We’ve tried to play by their rules, and where has that got us? Well, I say it’s time to take matters into our own hands.”

“But how?” Someone spoke out from the back of the hall. “If we take care of this pack, after that ruling, the council will come after us.”

Diana Duval grinned, shark-like, flat-eyed and predatory. “Why boys, we make it justified. They can’t very well let the Hale pack away with murder, can they?”

The same commenter as before piped up again, confused. “But they haven’t committed murder yet.”

Jackson caught Hazel’s dark chuckle as she murmured to her brother, “He must be new…”

The unhinged smile slipped from Diana Duval’s face, and she looked in the new guy’s direction with a sympathetic, somewhat condescending expression. “Sometimes, dear, it’s necessary to make some sacrifices for the greater good.”

“Just so we’re on the same page here, Ms. Duval,” the man said, voice shrill with incredulity, “Are you talking about killing an innocent? To frame this pack for murder?”

Duval gave a tight smile. It gave Jackson the creeps. “Not an innocent.” She turned once more to the crowd at large, regal and authoritative. “Who here among us believes Chris Argent is an innocent man?”

Beside him, Scott drew in a shocked breath. Jackson couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Chris Argent was a hunter - one of their own. They _couldn’t_ mean what he thought they meant.

Duval continued, having gained the rapt attention of every man and woman before her. “Would a right minded man advocate and protect a pack of slavering, dangerous beasts? Would a true hunter have interfered in our work for the sake of a _werewolf_? Would an _Argent_?” Her voice was all righteous fury now, and her audience was spellbound. “I tell you that that man is a disgrace to the name of Argent!”

A roomful of hunters murmured their agreement. Even the lone dissenter seemed to have been persuaded.

Duval affected a sad, solemn air. “Please don’t get me wrong, folks - human life is sacred. Nobody knows that better than me. Sometimes, though - well, sometimes we have to think of the greater good. What’s one man, compared to the multitude that are put at risk each day these wolves are permitted to roam the earth?”

The hall erupted in a chorus of assenting yells. It sounded like nothing more than a baying pack of hounds, and a great shiver ran through Jackson. All of a sudden he felt cold.

Scott grabbed his arm, and Jackson turned to see him swallow, struggling for words. “Let’s go,” he said finally, looking faintly queasy.

“Couldn’t agree more,” Jackson whispered.

They left the Duvals to their frenzied blood lust, and made their way home to their pack, wondering what they were going to do about this mess. Wondering what they _could_ do.

***

Scott traced soothing circles on Jackson’s palm as they sat together on the couch, watching Chris Argent pace in front of the fireplace, phone glued to his ear.

“I understand that,” he said, voice strained. “But need I remind you that I am personally in mortal peril here? I can’t afford to wait for an official hearing…” A pause, wherein Chris Argent grunted and shook his head. “Fine. If my lifeless corpse turns up floating in the river you’ll know who’s to blame.” He hung up, only to find Allison looking at him, wet eyed and pale.

“Don’t say things like that,” she said, voice wavering.

Mr. Argent went to her and pulled her into a hug. “I’m sorry,” he said, pressing a kiss into her hair.

They hadn’t had a face to face with both the Argents since this whole mess began, but Jackson doubted the Duval clan had the time to spare at the moment to devote to properly stalking them, so they were probably safe enough for the time being.

Chris Argent turned to the assembled wolf pack with a tight smile, raising his phone up in the air like a lawyer showing the jury evidence. “Bureaucracy at work.”

“That’s it?” Stiles said incredulously. “They’re going to launch a hearing, and that’s it? What are we supposed to do in the meantime? Y’know, while the crazy fundies _try to frame us for murder_?”

Argent rubbed at his eyes. “I don’t like it any more than you do, but there are procedures when it comes to humans. Right now all they have is a werewolf’s word, which - as you might guess - is little more than dirt to them.”

“But they want to murder you!”

“You think I don’t know that?” Argent said, voice strained. “What I don’t think any of you realise is that this is a death sentence for them, if they’re found guilty. The council need to be sure, before they sentence humans - hunters - to death.”

Allison swallowed. “All of them?” she asked, tremulously. “Even the kids?”

Her father looked at her sadly. “What else can they do? We can’t go to the police, and our resources are limited. Do you have any idea how hard it is to treat someone who’s been brainwashed the way these people are? I’m sure they’ll try, with the younger ones, but there’s only so much they can do.”

Jackson thought about the people he’d seen enter that hall tonight; about how young some of them were. Tried to tell himself it would be justice.

“Forgive me,” Melissa McCall started dryly from her spot perched beside Scott on the arm of the couch, “if I fail to sympathise with the psychotic murderers who want to kill my son, but just what in the hell do you plan to do in the meantime?”

Argent shrugged. “I’m sorry, Ms. McCall, but my hands are tied. You’ll have to take that up with Derek.”

Ms. McCall turned to Derek expectantly. “Well? What are you going to do about this?”

“Not that this is really any of your business,” Derek began, bristling already, “but what can I do, really? I can’t hurt them.”

Fire entered Melissa McCall’s eyes, and she rose from the couch to stand toe to toe with Derek, comically small against Derek’s bulk. “I know I’m not a wolf, and you won’t take me seriously because of it,” she said, fearless, looking Derek in the eye. “Well, if I have to be like you to get a say in the safety and wellbeing of _my only child_ , then you can just damn well bite me!”

Derek blinked back at her, stunned. Stiles was grinning, and Scott looked like he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him. Jackson tried his best not to laugh outright.

“That won’t be necessary,” Derek managed eventually. He raised his hands, half placating, half mocking. “What do you suggest we do then?”

“Why can’t you just move away? Take yourselves out of the equation?”

Derek’s nostril’s flared, the only sign he gave that he was angry at the suggestion. “And what? Whisk away a bunch of teenage boys with me?” He snorted. “People would talk, Ms. M.”

“Better than dead, or framed for murder,” Ms. McCall countered calmly.

“This is my home!” Derek yelled suddenly, and Ms. McCall shrank back at the sheer fury in his voice. Derek’s eyes glowed red before he shuddered and turned away. “I was just a kid when they drove me away the last time.” He turned back to them, eyes steely and hard, but no longer red. “I’m not a kid any more. I won’t let them win.”

Ms. McCall laid a gentle hand on Derek’s forearm, and that, more than anything, seemed to melt the anger right out of him. “If you get framed for this murder, they win. If you stay, you’ll give them exactly what they want.”

He looked in her eyes, and it was the most gentle, trusting expression Jackson had even seen on Derek Hale’s face. He looked away, unable to hold Ms. McCall’s frank gaze. “Laura and I had a cabin in the woods up in Oregon. I could take the pack there, till all this blows over.”

“Thank you, Derek.” Ms. McCall let out a shuddery, relieved breath, and patted his arm. “I think that would be for the best, just until this investigation’s completed.”

Derek still didn’t look happy, but he didn’t argue.

Stiles raised a hand, hesitant. “Um, what about school?”

Ms. McCall shrugged. “You’ve only got a few days left, right? And you’ve all finished your finals?”

“You want to pull us out of school?” Scott questioned.

She pursed her lips, thinking. “Maybe. I don’t know if we can risk those few days. Look kids, I know I speak for all your parents when I say that your schoolwork means _nothing_ compared to your lives. If that’s what it takes then so be it.”

Stiles stood abruptly, clapping his hands. “All in favour?”

They each muttered something in agreement, though no-one sounded all that enthusiastic about it. Retreating from civilization in order to escape a murder rap wasn’t really something to get enthused about.

Jackson let Scott drive the Porsche back to his house, mind too awhirl to concentrate on the road. He’d rather die than let most people behind the wheel of his baby, but Scott drove like his eighty year old grandma, so he figured it’d be fine, just this once.

Scott glanced over at him. “Have you figured out what you’re going to tell your parents yet?”

Jackson shrugged. “No clue. If it’d been during summer break I could just tell them I’m going to fly out to our condo in Malibu with some friends and they wouldn’t give a flying shit. But asking to cut school? They’re going to be suspicious.”

Scott mulled that over for a minute. “What about some kind of Lacrosse summer camp? They do those, right?”

“…yeah? I guess.”

“Well, me, you and Stiles are all going to be gone at the same time, and we’re the best on the team right now. Who’s to say we didn’t get scouted for some training camp or something?”

Jackson’s head bobbed absently as he thought that over. “Maybe. Some schools let out earlier than ours. This hypothetical camp could be half way across the country. Maybe even Canada. They’re pretty big on lacrosse there.”

“There you go then. Alibi accounted for.”

Jackson slapped a palm to his forehead. “Until my parents talk to Danny and figure out it’s a complete crock of shit.”

“Wouldn’t he cover for you?”

Jackson snorted. “Doubtful, with the way things have been going between us lately.”

“What happened?”

“How often have you seen me hanging out with Danny lately?”

“Not a whole lot…”

“Exactly. I’m always with the pack, and any time I do spend with him I can’t tell him shit. He’s pissed off about it, and I can’t say I blame him. I think he’s given up on me.”

Neither of them spoke for a while, until Scott shook his head and slammed on the brakes, throwing them forward in their seats.

“What the hell are you doing?” Jackson shrieked.

Scott turned the car around and began driving in the other direction. “We were going the wrong way.”

“The hell we were! Turn back, you dumbass! Or better yet, get out and give me back the keys.”

“We’re going to Danny’s house, and you’re going to talk to him,” Scott told him, firm and implacable. The tone made Jackson’s wolf want to roll over, and that made Jackson want to thumb his nose at it just out of spite, but something in him - the part that still felt lost and hurt and all of about ten years old when he remembered the look on Danny’s face the last time he’d spoken to him - knew that he needed to fix what he’d inadvertently broken.

Jackson sighed. “Fine. You’re still going the wrong way - you missed the turn a minute ago.”

“Oops,” Scott said sheepishly.

Jackson laughed, settled back into his seat, and tried to think of what the hell he was going to tell Danny.

Then, what seemed like moments later, he was standing on Danny’s doorstep, his mind resolutely, terrifyingly blank. His hand paused on the doorbell and he looked back at Scott, who gave him a reassuring smile. Jackson braced himself, and rang the doorbell.

 Danny appeared after a bit, half dressed and out of breath. When he saw Jackson he groaned. “Damn it Jackson, I only just got my parents out of the house! You barely speak to me for months and _this_ is the moment you choose to show up at my door?”

“Sorry?” Jackson said, trying to sound contrite. 

“Danny? Who is it?” a voice called from upstairs.

“It’s nothing Alex,” Danny replied. “I’ll be up in a second.” He stepped outside and closed the door behind him.

“New boyfriend?” Jackson asked.

“Yeah. Which you’d know if you’d hadn’t been ignoring me.”

Jackson winced.

Danny rubbed at the pulsing vein at his temple and sighed in capitulation. He really was too nice for his own good. “What do you want, Jackson?”

“To apologise, mostly.”

“…and? What’s the catch?”

“What, I can’t be here just for that?”

Danny let out a disbelieving little laugh. “Doubt it. Not your style. Maybe if you’d showed up with courtside seats to a Lakers game or something, and less of the actual apology.”

“Hey, I can do direct!” Jackson sputtered, indignant. “I can be man enough to admit I was wrong. I’ve treated you like shit lately, and I’m fucking sorry, Danny, but trust me when I say I had my reasons.”

Danny raised an eyebrow at him, searching him for something Jackson hoped he could deliver on. Danny relented after a moment with a tiny smile. “Apology accepted, asshole.”

Jackson hoped, for the sake of his dignity, that the immense relief he felt wasn’t shining on his face like a beacon.

Danny shifted, looking back at Jackson’s car, and immediately froze in disbelief at what he saw. “Is that Scott McCall? In the _driver’s seat_? Who are you and what have you done with Jackson?”

Jackson shifted uneasily while Danny looked at him, bug eyed. Jackson rubbed the back of his neck. “Um, about Scott…”

Realisation dawned on Danny’s features and his mouth dropped open in shock. “How many times did you tell me you weren’t gay..?”

‘…while we had each other’s cocks in our hands as kids,’ Jackson continued mentally, wincing. “Believe me, it was kind of a shock to me too.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me this was why you had no time for me?  Don’t get me wrong, it’s still a shitty thing to do, but you wouldn’t be the first guy to -”

It’d be easier to let Danny think that was why (well, the only reason why) he’d let their friendship fall by the wayside, but even if he couldn’t tell Danny the whole truth just yet, he was done with lying to him. “It’s bigger than that.”

The seriousness in his voice gave Danny pause.

“I can’t tell you everything yet, but…we’re in trouble, Danny. We have to skip town for a while, and I don’t know when we’ll be able to come back and -” he had to break off, for fear of letting the waver in his voice turn frightened and shrill.

Danny looked at him in concern, reaching out a tentative hand. “Jackson -”

Jackson shied away, just a fraction, and took a calming breath. “Could you do me a favour? I need you to cover for us if anyone asks. Tell them me, Scott and Stiles are at a lacrosse summer training camp.”

Danny let out a breath, obviously still trying to take it all in. “Sure,” he said. “I can do that.” He turned sharp, worried eyes on Jackson. “What’s going on? You said you’re in trouble. Are you in danger, or..?”

Jackson snorted out a half hearted laugh. “You could say that. I swear I’ll tell you everything when I come back, as long as you promise not to freak out on me.”

“Freak out? Why? What the hell is happening, Jackson?”

“Later,” Jackson said, and turned to go. “I’ll tell you later.”

“Jackson!”

Jackson turned to find himself caught up in a tight, bone crushing hug. He turned his face into Danny’s shoulder and just breathed for a moment. Let himself feel the churning worry in his gut. The fear that he couldn’t shake. He shuddered when Danny released him.

“Take care of yourself,” he said, sounding just as anxious as Jackson felt.

Jackson backed away, forcing a tight smile. “I always do.”

They didn’t say goodbye, but Danny watched him, worried frown seemingly etched in stone, as he got in beside Scott.

Scott put away his phone, which he’d been texting on, and looked up, his face pulling into an expression remarkably similar to Danny’s when he got a good look at Jackson. “He wouldn’t do it?”

“Of course he’ll do it. Danny’s the nicest person in this shit hole town.”

“Then what..?”

Jackson shrugged, avoiding Scott’s gaze. “Nothing. We can go now, there’s nothing stopping us.”

“You don’t want to go?”

“It’s not that. This whole thing is…well, it’s kind of -”

“Terrifying?” Scott said, lip quirked. “Tell me about it. But we’ll be safer in Oregon.” He sounded like he was trying to reassure himself as much as Jackson. Jackson murmured something in agreement, and tried not to think about the gnawing fear of what was to come.


	5. Derek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for arson, death and euthanasia. Fudging of canon in regards to Derek's backstory.

  
Derek watched the scenery go by in a blur of green and brown as Jackson drove the Camaro at speeds that were, strictly speaking, probably not all that safe on a dirt trail. They weren’t far now, and Derek could feel the call of what had once been his territory singing in his veins.

“Slow down, kid,” he told Jackson, voice quiet so as to not wake the sleeping betas in the backseat. “There’s no-one on our tails.” That had been a real concern for the first few hours, but they’d been driving for the better part of a day now, and Derek was pretty sure they were in the clear at this point.

Jackson shrugged wordlessly and let the car slow to a speed that didn’t speak of some kind of death wish. Apparently driving something other than a Porsche took some getting used to for him.

Derek opened his window and closed his eyes, breathing in the familiar scents. The warm, wet maritime air was heavy with cedar and spruce; it felt like a caress on his skin; like a lover welcoming him home.

This was as much home as Beacon Hills had ever been, he admitted to himself grudgingly, not least because it was territory they’d carved out themselves, by tooth and by claw. It was here that Laura had come into her own; where she’d blossomed into an alpha that would have made their family proud.

He could see the ghost of her everywhere he looked. That outcrop in the distance was where they’d performed their first pack ritual as a pair; that clearing was where she’d pitted herself against the first challenger to her authority.

Memory after memory assaulted his senses, most of them bittersweet, but there was one more potent than the others; one that had haunted his dreams for years.

It started with laughter. With blood under their nails and smiles on their faces. He and Laura had snuck off to the woods after school and taken down a ten point buck by themselves, and they were still riding high on the adrenaline of a successful kill as they made their way home with the light of the moon prickling their senses. They knew they’d be in trouble when they got back - their dad was a stickler for lockup on the full moon - which was why they had took their time.

They’d watched an ambulance speed past them as they walked barefoot on the side of the road, sirens blaring, and wondered which of their neighbours was ill. It wasn’t until they caught the unmistakable smell of smoke and saw the flames licking the air in the distance that they realised there was something badly wrong.

“Derek, it’s coming from our _house_!” Laura had howled, and sprinted towards it as fast as her feet could carry her. Derek had stumbled blindly in her wake, fear making him clumsy.

They stopped dead at the sight of the charred wreck that had been their home. Laura screamed when she saw the fire crew pull their mother’s lifeless corpse from the building. Derek felt like something had stolen his tongue - he couldn’t utter a single sound. He fell to his knees, as helpless as he’d ever felt.

Something died in him when they started carrying the children out. The sight of their tiny bodies, red and ruined, would haunt him every time he closed his eyes for a long time to come, but it was the smell that had him doubled over and vomiting on the ground. The smell of roasting meat had been enough to turn his stomach for a full year afterwards.

Someone - the sheriff, he’d later been able to say - tried to put an arm around his shoulders and turn him away, but then the firefighters were carefully carrying someone from the smouldering blaze, crying for a stretcher, tentative hope on their faces. Alive. Someone was alive.

He and Laura had followed in their wake, wide eyed and terrified of getting in the way. He caught a glimpse of a shock of dark hair, and knew that it was his father. His heart caught in his throat. 

They watched from the background as the paramedics doused the writhing, moaning figure with what sterile water they had, and did their best to cut his clothes off. They moved about with all the efficiency of worker ants; rattling off stats and attaching their father to an endless array of medical equipment.

“Medics! Medics! We’ve got another live one!” someone shouted, and Derek looked to see them retrieving uncle Peter from the fire, badly burned and groaning in agony, but alive.

“Shit!” one of the medics attending their dad cursed. “Where the hell is our backup? There’s only three of us to keep these poor bastards alive, how do they expect us to…”

His co-worker looked uncertainly at their father. “This one’s stable enough for now. All he needs is someone to stay and bag him,” he said as he pressed rhythmically on the air chamber of the oxygen mask.

“I could do that,” Laura said suddenly, leaning in the back of the ambulance. “I took a first aid course, and I watch a lot of ER.”

One of them gave her an eye roll, but another sighed and pulled her close to show her how it was done. “Once every five seconds, okay kid?”

Laura nodded, hiding her fear behind calm determination.

“Good, that’s good,” the medic told her, even as his co-workers moved to help Peter. “Now, I’m going to move this guy -”

“This is my dad,” Laura said, voice soft.

“Aw, shit. Okay, honey, as you may have noticed, the back of this thing’s not all that roomy, and we’re going to need space to stabilize the other guy, so we’re going to have to move your dad. Do you think you can climb up on the gurney and keep up with the bagging?”

Laura nodded, and Derek wondered at her ability to stay calm.

They moved the gurney to the side of the ambulance. Whether deliberately or not, the paramedic chose the side away from the house, where they wouldn’t have to see the row of sheet covered bodies, some of them so heartbreakingly small. Derek edged forward on feet made of lead, desperate to see his father’s face, but dreading the sight nonetheless.

It wasn’t as bad as he’d thought - most of his face had been spared, at least. It was the charred, blistering burns that crept from chest to chin that worried Derek. His father’s breath wheezed uneasily, fogging up the oxygen mask. It was only when he moved closer that Derek could see his lips moving. “He’s trying to say something!”

It was then that Laura wavered, unsure. “I can’t take it off, Derek. What’s he saying?”

He leaned in close, straining to hear. “What? I can’t make out what you’re saying, dad -”

Their father twisted and grunted, clearly frustrated. He reached with trembling, raw fingers to push the mask from his face.

“Daddy!” Laura cried, already moving to replace it, but their dad raised one unsteady, unyielding hand to stop her.

“…no,” he whispered, soft as the wind rustling through the grass, but distinct. Laura paused.

Their father looked between his two surviving children, something desperate and sad in his expression. “Not going to make it…” he wheezed, voice low and rough like gravel, and it was then that Derek realised how much damage his throat had sustained.

“You will,” Laura said, her voice breaking. “Just hold on -”

Their father shook his head, pain shining from his eyes. “’m not,” he forced from his ruined throat. He took a few shuddering breaths before he was able to continue. “One last gift I can give you…Help you look out f’r each other when ‘m gone…”

“Daddy, no!” Laura cried, horrified. Derek was none the wiser.

“Kill me,” their father rasped, reaching with what strength he had left to take Laura’s hands in his own.

Laura didn’t recoil from fear of hurting him, but she shook her head wildly. “I can’t!”

His father looked at Derek, eyes pleading, and already Derek was backing away in horror.

“Alpha. Power dies with me, ’less someone takes it,” he said, voice starting to fail him. “Dying…Love you…need to know you’ll be okay…”

Derek was frozen to the spot, unable to even comprehend what their father was asking of them. Laura - soft-hearted, protective Laura - nodded, with tears streaming down her face.

She looked at the array of medical equipment attached to their dad, disabled the heart monitor, then took off her jacket and balled it up with shaking hands. She leaned over their father, pressed the jacket over his mouth and nose, and kissed him on the forehead. Their dad nodded, eyes slipping closed, seemingly at peace, and reached out both hands to grasp those of his kids.

He didn’t struggle as Laura smothered him, but for a bare second among the endless minutes it took to do the deed, his hand tightened on Derek’s as if to offer comfort. Derek fell to his knees in the dirt, his world reduced down to the slackening grip on his hand and the hysterical tears of his sister.

He was barely conscious of what happened next - frantic medics and questioning from the sheriff, followed by a funeral he had no recollection of. He’d sat there, numb, as their lawyer gave them a life insurance check, then wordlessly nodded as Laura, eyes red under the moonlight, told him they needed to move away; that they weren’t safe here anymore.

Laura had decided on the west coast of Oregon - somewhere green and mild and far, far from the hunters’ grasp. A few acres of land to call their own.

Away from the Argents. Away from Kate.

His stomach lurched and his body was propelled forward as Jackson hit a pothole, throwing him out of his memories.

“Sorry!”

“Jackson, what the hell?” Scott mumbled sleepily from the backseat, rubbing the mark on his forehead where it had collided with the window.

“I said I was sorry!” Jackson said defensively.

“Little more careful there, buddy?” Stiles suggested, rubbing his eyes. “Please?”

“It was an accident! You drive, if you’re so fucking faultless, you -”

Derek shook his head to clear it. “No need. The house is just down the road.”

“Thank God,” Scott moaned, writhing in his seat. “I need to pee so bad…”

Derek smiled, letting the puppyish energy of his pack wash away the acrid taste of regret. He wouldn’t let bitter memories taint this place for him, he thought as the big, traditional wood cabin came into view. Memories of Laura washed over him as he looked at their former home; of her iron will and her soft heart and her indomitable strength. He knew she’d never have wanted to see him miserable.

He got out of the car as they pulled up in front of the cabin and spread his arms wide. “Welcome to your new home, kids.”

Jackson stepped forward, giving a low whistle. “Not bad, Hale. We have a place like this in Aspen.”

Derek ignored him and bent to scoop up the key from below the doormat.

Stiles laughed at him. “Quite a hiding place you have there, Derek. I’d be surprised if the place hasn’t been ransacked while you were gone.”

Derek rolled his eyes, turning the key in the lock and pushing the door open. “Laura had a thing for strays. This was kind of a half way house for wayward werewolves.”

He ignored the little indrawn breath that told him Stiles was gearing up for another mile a minute commentary and went inside, immediately closing his eyes and drawing in a deep breath. His chest ached fiercely; her scent was still strong here, ingrained into everything she’d ever touched. He barely refrained from a growl when he opened his eyes to see his pack pawing over everything curiously, overwriting Laura’s scent with their own.

He took a deep breath, memorising _spiceearthhome_ , and made himself remember that this was his new family. That Laura was gone, and there was nothing that could change that. Holding onto ghosts wouldn’t do him any favours.

Scott barrelled through the house looking for a bathroom, opening the door to Laura’s room briefly on his search. Her scent was strongest there, wafting towards him, and Derek found his feet moving closer.

Once he was inside, he became conscious of another smell. Another wolf, and what was more unusual, _both_ scents - human and wolf. The human side was dull and unremarkable, but the wolf’s made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. A burst of _pinemusksnow_ ; sharp, just this side of unpleasant. Her. Derek’s lips curled in a snarl.

A hand clapped down on his shoulder, and Derek spun round, hands already pressing down on the guy’s throat.

“Derek -” Jackson croaked, blinking up at him with big, alarmed eyes.

Derek shook himself and let his packmate go. “Don’t sneak up on me, kid.”

Jackson rubbed at his throat, still looking at Derek with recrimination.

Derek sighed. “Fine. Sorry. What do you want?”

“…I just wanted to know which room we’re supposed to take. I assume that one’s yours,” he said, gesturing at Derek’s old bedroom.

Damn. Derek hadn’t thought of that. There were only three bedrooms, and two of them had been Derek’s and Laura’s. The very thought of letting Scott and Jackson fuck on Laura’s bed made him want to go out and kill something, so that was out.

“Give me a minute,” Derek said flatly, and went to his bedroom to see what he’d left here last time. He gathered up his things and ferried them over to Laura’s room.

Jackson was waiting where he’d left him, hovering in Laura’s doorway. “You can take my old room. Stiles can have the spare.” With that, Derek closed the door, shutting the rest of his pack out.

He fell on the bed, letting his exhaustion pull him down into sleep. With eyes closed and Laura’s scent so close, he could almost fool himself into believing she was here. He dreamt of her; whole and happy and alive.

***

He felt more in control of himself in the morning. Less rattled at all the ghosts being here had dredged up for him.

Scott and Stiles were at the stove making pancakes when he shuffled sleepily into the kitchen. He sat next to Jackson at the table and gave him a ‘what the hell?’ look.

Jackson shrugged, cutting into his own stack. “They like to cook. You want to look a gift horse in the mouth?” He stuffed a bite of pancake into his mouth and moaned obscenely.

Scott looked back at him and smiled. “Good?” Jackson nodded enthusiastically, and Scott turned his attention to Derek. “You like pancakes?”

“Who doesn’t?”

Seconds later, Stiles presented him with a huge mound of pancakes, smothered in syrup, and Derek dug in. He just managed to stop himself groaning in pleasure.

Jackson smirked at him. “They have their uses.”

“I heard that!” Scott scolded, and flopped into a chair with his own breakfast.

“Aw, I’m sorry, baby,” Jackson apologised in a sing song voice, reaching over to ruffle Scott’s hair. “You have many uses, least of all that thing you do with -”

Scott turned red. “Jackson!”

“Yeah, Jackson,” Stiles said, slipping into his own seat. “My brain’s warped enough without that kind of info.”

Derek laughed, and listened to them bicker, feeling like he was part of a family again.

“So what do you do for entertainment around here? I notice there doesn’t seem to be a TV…” Stiles asked after they’d finished breakfast, eyes wide with something Derek could easily see evolving into panic.

“That’s because there isn’t one,” Derek replied, deadpan, waiting for the horrified reaction. He wasn’t disappointed.

“Are you kidding? TV is like a basic human right, man. How did you manage not to die of boredom all these years?”

Derek chuckled. “Reading? Physical activity?” Three crestfallen expressions met this announcement. “Relax. I knew I was going to be gone a while, so I sold the TV and let the cable contract lapse. If we’re here a while I can get it reinstated. In the meantime, there’s wifi.”

Stiles gave an exaggerated sigh. “Don’t do that to me, Hale. You almost gave me a heart attack.”

Derek watched in silent amazement as all three of them whipped out their laptops. “You’ve been here all of half a day,” he said incredulously.

Jackson raised an eyebrow at him. “Yeah, so? Do you have any idea how many emails I’ve missed?”

He watched them clack away at their keyboards while the sun shone brightly in the windows and the sound of little birds singing carried in from outside. He shook his head and took matters into his own hands.

“Hey!” three voices cried out in unison as Derek shut their laptops in their faces.

Derek smiled serenely in the face of overwhelming dissention. “When’s the last time any of you went to the beach?”

***

A little later they tumbled out of the car and onto the beach, and not a one of the kids could maintain their grumbling in the face of the rugged beauty of the Oregon coast.

He and Laura had discovered this little bit of paradise when they’d been younger. It was about a mile of undisturbed coastline; too rocky to be attractive to most, but sandy enough for a bunch of kids to have a good time there nonetheless. Today, it was wonderfully deserted.

“Skinny dipping time!” came a yell. Scott, Derek was anything but surprised to note. Just try to keep that one _out_ of the water, he thought, smiling as the kids all tore off their clothes and dove into the waves, whooping wildly.

“Aren’t you coming?” Stiles called to Derek, just before Scott snuck up behind him and dunked him. Stiles came up sputtering and laughing. “Subordinate abuse! Derek, did you see that? Help!”

“What the hell,” Derek said, already tugging at his shirt and running towards the water.

“You’re for it now, McCall!” Stiles crowed. While Stiles was turned away, Derek dunked him again, barking out a laugh.

“No fair!” Stiles gasped as he came back up, trying for outraged, but shaking with laughter. “What is it, gang up on Stiles day?”

“I’m a pretty equal opportunity dunker, actually,” Derek said with a sly smile as he lunged for Scott. Scott danced back, but Derek caught him anyway, hoisting him onto his shoulders for an almighty backdrop that wound up splashing them all.

It was carnage, and no-one was safe. After a while Derek felt like he’d swallowed about a gallon of sea water, and his ribs hurt from laughing so much. It had been a while since he’d let go of his iron control to have fun like this.

After the dunking war, they swam for a bit (competitively, of course, with Jackson proving to have a natural advantage over the rest of them), then fooled around on the beach for a while.

Jackson found a crab, then proceeded to chase Stiles around with it when Stiles said they gave him the creeps. Scott clambered over the rocks and hoisted himself up into the grassy dunes, looking out into the forest in the distance. Derek watched his pack and felt almost content, for the first time in a long time.

Suddenly Scott tilted his head and stilled, watching something with intent, golden eyes. Attention caught, Derek followed his gaze and smiled, teeth sharpening in his mouth. There, in the open grass, sat a snowshoe hare, almost undetectable in its brown summer coat. Derek raised a hand behind him, signalling his pack wordlessly.

They gave chase in unison, silent and deadly. The hare was quick, and it had a head start. It darted into the forest, crashing this way and that through the brush; a swift little shadow.

It disappeared down a warren and Scott gave a despondent little yowl of disappointment. Seconds later Derek saw it emerge from the ground a few hundred feet away and dive into a thicket. They lost sight of it then, and had to follow their noses. It must have been tired by now, Derek thought, eyes searching. There. He thrust his hand forward, his claws brushing the hare’s downy fur as it leapt across the trickling stream, out of his grasp.

On the other side of the stream, a clawed hand reached out from the shadows of an old douglas fir and snatched the hare. There came one ear splitting shriek, and then the distinct crunching of bones. Pale gold eyes glowed in the darkness cast by the tree.

A girl, naked and skinny with wild white hair emerged from the shadows, smelling of _pinemusksnow_. She grinned at them with pointed teeth in a bloodstained face. “Derek.”

Derek snarled, and his pack was instantly at his side, bristling and growling. His wolf wanted to fight - _longed_ for the taste of her blood on his tongue - but he contained himself, though he shook with the effort. “Gretchen. What are you doing here?”

Gretchen sat down on a boulder and began picking insolently at the blood under her claws. She licked her lips and smirked. “I came to see Laura. We didn’t part on the best terms last time. Thought she might have cooled off some by now.”

“Laura’s dead.” His voice was cold, but the words still brought him pain. Not that he’d let _her_ of all people see it.

That gave Gretchen pause. Her eyes went impossibly wide and impossibly blue, and for the first time since Derek had known her, her sharp, vulpine little face seemed vulnerable. Her lip trembled as she drew in a shocked breath. Derek could almost see what Laura might have seen in her all those years ago, until she opened her mouth. “You fucking bastard. You wanted to be alpha that bad?”

Derek roared, and Scott took a step closer, hand on Derek’s arm, squeezing. “No,” he answered for Derek. “It was Peter Hale. Derek had nothing to do with it.”

Gretchen sucked in a breath and nodded, not realising just how close she’d come to having her head ripped from her body. “You kill him?”

“Yes,” Derek hissed, still struggling with his wolf.

“Good.”

“This is my territory, Gretchen. Leave. Don’t come back.”

Gretchen grinned, foxlike, either recovered from her shock or hiding it well. Derek had always hated her mercurial moods. “I could challenge you for it,” she purred, sounding excited at the prospect.

Derek smiled, slow and vicious. “You really want to try?” He could feel his pack at his back, bristling and ready for a fight. “I haven’t her soft heart, in case you’d forgotten, and these aren’t strays.”

Gretchen looked them all over, for a second actually seeming to weigh her odds, before scowling darkly and turning to go. She gave them a disdainful little snort as she sauntered away, as arrogant as Derek had ever seen her.

They stood still for a while after she was gone, adrenaline pumping through their veins, until Stiles’ bark of laughter startled them out of it. They looked at him, and Stiles shrugged, smiling. “I was just thinking, that girl has some set of balls on her. Where the hell did you find that one?”

Derek looked off in the direction Gretchen had disappeared, lost in thought. “She was Laura’s…” Friend with benefits was too generous, and enemy wasn’t right either. “She was Laura’s lover. Sometimes. When they weren’t on the outs over something Gretchen had done, anyway.”

He saw Stiles’ cheeky grin, but just as he opened his mouth to make a smart remark, Scott slapped him upside the head, saving Derek the effort.

“Will she give us any more trouble?” Scott asked.

Derek shrugged faintly. “Probably not, but you never know with Gretchen. She was only bit six years ago, but she’s been a force unto herself for as long as I’ve known her. She’s more wild than she is human, so she’s not always reasonable. Or particularly sane, frankly.”

“Well doesn’t that just fill you with confidence, guys?” Stiles said, dripping with sarcasm. “Wouldn’t that be a kicker? Come to a safe house to escape crazy hunters only to have a crazy werewolf slit our throats in our sleep or something?”

Derek snorted. “Don’t get too carried away, kid. She’s wild, and she’s a fucking asshole, but she’s not a murderer.”

“Still,” Stiles bulled on as they went back to the beach to retrieve their clothes, “we’re living in a cabin in the woods. That’s the setup to like a million slasher movies. Scott, sorry buddy, but you’ll be the first to go -”

“Me? Why?”

“Because you and Jackson are at it like rabbits, and that’s the first rule: don’t have sex. I figure Jackson will have a lick of sense and not, like, try to talk to the serial killer or something like you would, so he’ll be second -”

“Hey! I totally resent that!”

Derek shared a long suffering look with Jackson. “How do you make them shut up?”

Jackson snorted. “Well, sex works on one of them, but I’m not trying that out on the other.”

Derek shook his head. “I knew I should have bought him a muzzle…”

***

A week passed in relative peace, and Derek was starting to relax. Gretchen hadn’t shown her face once, and he hadn’t given a thought to the Duvals in days. The kids had adapted pretty well, even if they did drive him up the wall on occasion. They’d run out of supplies a lot sooner than he’d planned for, since he hadn’t taken the boys’ affinity for cooking into consideration, but that was easily rectified with a trip to the store.

There was a small town a few miles away from the house, but he passed that one by, just in case anyone ( _hunters_ ) saw him in town and made the connection to where they were staying. Paranoid, maybe, but better safe than sorry. He bypassed another town and stopped at the next.

He picked up what he needed at a little mom and pop grocery store and waited for the older woman at the register to tear her eyes away from the TV in the corner long enough to notice him. He began unloading groceries. Nothing. He tapped his foot. Nothing. Finally he cleared his throat and she turned around.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was so caught up in the news,” she said, and began to sort his items. “Isn’t it just terrible?” she asked, shaking her head sadly.

“What’s that?” he replied absently, wishing she’d just get on with it.

The lady paused with a bag of sugar over the scanner. “You haven’t heard? It’s all over the news,” she said, indicating her little TV screen, where a news anchor stood in front of yellow crime scene tape in the woods. “They found some poor girl washed up at the side of the river this morning. What was left of the poor thing.”

Derek froze, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. “What do you mean?”

“That’s the thing - they only found half of her. The animals had got to her before anyone found her, you see. I heard they might have to use dental records.”

Derek watched the screen intently as the lady bagged his groceries, trying to find some clue as to what might have happened. They were showing footage of the coroner wheeling away the body bag. Derek drew in a breath. There, caught between the zipper, was a strand of long, white blond hair.

“It’s just horrible, isn’t it?” the lady said, hand to her heart. “Thank God it wasn’t local, at least.”

“Downstream?” Derek asked, praying it wasn’t. Their territory was downstream. If there were hunters that close…

“No, no, this was all the way up near Tillamook. That my dear is why you don’t go camping without a shotgun…”

Derek doubted it had been an animal attack, but he didn’t argue with her. He thanked her, smiling charmingly as he paid, and carried his bags out to the car, carefully carefree.

He sat with his head to the steering wheel for a minute, just breathing. It could be a coincidence. Gretchen might have finally challenged a wolf she shouldn’t have. It might have been regular hunters - lord knows Gretchen made herself an easy enough target. Even if it _was_ the Duvals, it wasn’t anywhere near where they were. They were still safe, for now. There wasn’t anything more he could do.

When he got home he pasted a lazy smile on his face, and didn’t tell the kids about the girl in the river.


	6. Scott

Scott woke with Jackson’s breath tickling the back of his neck, and a gentle hand petting his belly. He turned in Jackson’s arms, taking in the soft fan of lashes against his cheeks and the way his mouth moved faintly as he muttered in his sleep. He took it all in and his chest ached with something he wasn’t brave enough to put a name to.

He never thought he and Jackson would last as long as they had, to be honest, and he never took any of it for granted, still waiting for the day Jackson came to his senses and realised he could do better. His mother had told him once - tears streaking down her face as she’d signed her divorce papers - that you couldn’t really love someone if you didn’t truly respect them. That had been something that had worried him for quite a while - the niggling doubt that Jackson _didn’t_.

Then Jackson would look at him like he did now as he blinked awake, eyes soft and satisfied, and all those doubts faded, forgotten. He swallowed, throat suddenly dry. “Hey,” he said softly.

Jackson mumbled something in reply, closing his eyes and stretching out with a groan. “I think you broke my dick. It won’t work now. I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

“Very.” Scott chuckled, reaching over to palm Jackson’s semi-hard cock.

Jackson’s breath stuttered. “Well, if you want to have a try at fixing it…” He groaned as Scott ran his palm over the head. “Really, though, what the hell got into you last night? You were pretty…enthusiastic.”

That was one word for it. He’d ridden Jackson’s cock like a prize rodeo bull until they were both raw, rattling the windows with his howls and groans. He really had to say, his world had totally expanded the day he’d discovered his prostate.

He shrugged, nodding toward the next room. “I guess maybe it was all the pheromones. I think my wolf kind of got a little competitive.”

Jackson laughed. “We’ll have to get Lydia to stay for a while, if that’s the kind of reaction she gets. Remind me to go pick her a bunch of wildflowers or something.”

Lydia had finally arrived yesterday evening, suitcase in hand. Scott had been glad for Stiles - it couldn’t have been easy living with two oversexed teenage werewolves in the room next to you after all - until things started to get a little hot and heavy in Stiles’ room, and the pheromones had driven Scott half way out of his mind.

“It’s not funny, Jackson! They must have heard everything…” Scott pulled a pillow over his head as if he could block out the world, peeking out with one eye.

Jackson’s expression gentled. “So they heard us have some awesome sex. That’s nothing to be ashamed about.” He crawled over Scott’s naked back and began to massage his shoulders.

Scott groaned, tension slipping away. “Not ashamed. _Embarrassed_.” Scott remembered some of the noises he’d made last night, and there was no way in hell Stiles was going to let him live them down. Jackson’s cock brushed against his skin and he drew in a breath, waiting to see where Jackson’s clever hands would take this.

Jackson drew one finger along his spine, delving further. His other hand reached under Scott to grip his cock. Scott gasped, and Jackson breathed into his ear, “You want me to make you forget all about it?”

And, well, who could say no to an offer like that?

***

Lydia and Stiles were already sitting at the table, feeding each other bits of muffin, when they finally emerged from their room to rustle up something to eat.

Lydia pulled away to blink at Scott in amazement. “I have never, in all my life, heard anyone as loud as you are. Seriously, if there were an Olympic medal for -”

“Lyd,” Jackson snapped, pulling Scott into his arms before he could slink away in mortification, “Lay off.”

“You’re not getting off with it that easy, dude,” Stiles said to Scott. He pointed at the dark circles under his eyes. “See these? _Hours_. You kept us up for _hours_. My God, that’s _inhuman_!”

Scott scowled at his best friend. “Well I’m not human, and it was your fault in the first place, throwing off all those sex pheromones…”

“Look who’s talking!” Stiles yelped, throwing his hands up. “Do you have any idea what it’s like trying to get some sleep in a room next to you two? You sound like you’re making a porn movie in there every damn night!”

Scott was distracted from his indignant reply when Derek wandered in, yawning placidly like some great lazy cat. He shuffled, zombie-like, to the fridge and opened the milk, chugging until it was empty.

“That was the last jug!” Stiles complained. “How am I supposed to eat my Froot Loops now?”

Derek continued inspecting the contents of the fridge, not even sparing a look in Stiles’ direction.

“Derek!”

Derek turned then, looking surprised. He pulled an earplug out of one ear. “What?”

“Why didn’t I think of that?” Stiles muttered to himself. “Where did you get those and why didn’t you get me some, you horrible bastard?”

Derek chuckled. “They’re a mated pair - I had an idea what would happen. It’s like sharing a house with a pair of newlyweds. Why, what did _you_ expect?”

Stiles thunked his head on the table. “I hate you all.”

Derek shook his head and smiled. Then he looked at Scott and his expression turned to something almost hesitant.

“What?” Scott asked, not liking that look one bit.

“Your mom called last night. You were…indisposed…so I took a message.”

“And?” His stomach roiled. Derek would have told him if something was wrong, wouldn’t he?

“She’s fine,” he said quickly. “But your dad’s been giving her a hard time about visitation again, and she said he’s got his lawyers involved this time. She’s trying to fend him off, but…”

Scott fell into an empty chair, scowling fiercely at thin air. “God, how many times have I got to tell him to go fuck himself before he gets the picture?” He ran his hands through his hair, tugging a bit in his frustration. He looked at Stiles and let out a mirthless laugh. “You know this is because she’s dating your dad now, right?”

Stiles gave him a sympathetic half smile. “Probably. Look, don’t get all worked up about this - my dad will tear him a new one if he pushes too far.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Scott muttered. Beneath the table, Jackson gripped his hand, offering comfort. It didn’t make him worry any less. They were all looking at him, pitying him, and he felt like he was suffocating. He stood abruptly, letting Jackson’s hand slip from his own. “I’m going into town. Anyone need anything?”

Jackson rose. “I’ll go with you -”

“No, that’s -” he cut himself off, before something harsh and thoughtless could come out of his mouth. He hissed out a breath. “I need some space, that’s all. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

“Bring milk when you’re done brooding!” Stiles called as Scott pulled on his shoes and opened the door. Jackson followed quietly, closing the door behind them with a soft click. He hovered on the porch, hand outstretched as if to reach for Scott before he thought better of it and forced it to his side once more. He looked like a sad puppy that had been told to stay.

Scott sighed and turned back, pulling Jackson to him for a kiss more thorough than he’d intended.

Jackson blinked at him, dazed, before his expression sharpened with concern. “You alright?”

Scott gave him a tight smile. “Yeah. He does this every now and again - I’m used to it. It’s my mom I’m worried about.”

Jackson rubbed circles on his back. “If I know your mom, you’ve got nothing to worry about - she’s a fucking Valkyrie.”

“True,” Scott laughed, a bit more genuinely. He gave Jackson a squeeze. “I’ll be back soon, I just want to go clear my head for a bit.”

Jackson gave him a playful shove. “Get gone then.” He watched Scott as he backed away. “And don’t come back in a shitty mood!”

Scott snorted out a laugh, and began walking. Derek made them go three towns over to do their grocery shopping, so it might take a while on foot. Good. He really needed the time to himself.

The wolf lurked in the back of his mind, roused by the anger that rose like bile in his throat when his thoughts circled back to his father.

That petty, jealous _bastard_. He hadn’t bothered them for months, and now that his mom had found someone new - someone that made her _happy_ \- now he had to come and try to ruin things for them. Because God forbid either of them dare to be happy without him. Well fuck him. Maybe Scott would agree to a visitation, just so he could tell his dad exactly what he thought of him. He wasn’t some timid little pup anymore; wasn’t going to let himself be bullied.

His wolf crooned at him, longing for freedom Scott couldn’t give it.

Instead, he ran. He ran until all thought was gone, and all the anger and hurt and frustration with it. Until his wolf settled, and the world was nothing but the sound of leaves crunching underfoot and the scent of the wild filling his lungs.

It was the thought of Jackson that brought him back to himself eventually. Jackson was waiting for him, and it wasn’t fair to keep him worried longer than he had to. He slowed to a stop as he tried to reorient himself. It wasn’t far, he decided.

He walked at a much slower pace for the remaining mile, feeling something close to calm again. It was actually kind of nice to get some time to himself for a little while. Jackson he could handle, but spending all day everyday with three other people underfoot could be a bit much sometimes.

Still, it could always be worse. Somehow he’d imagined Derek would be a controlling dick to live with. Instead, away from the stress and constant harassment of Beacon Hills, it turned out Derek was actually fairly easygoing. It was hard to reconcile the person he knew now - the Derek who had a wicked, deadpan sense of humour; who was so patient with them; who so obviously was still grieving for his sister - with the asshole who had stolen the only chance of a cure he had from him.

He remembered the hurt and the betrayal he’d felt, but he was disconnected from it somehow; like it had been something that happened to somebody else. It was hard to hold onto that resentment when he was truly happy with the pack and his place in it. In a way, he was sort of thankful. Not that he’d give Derek the satisfaction of telling him that.

Still, making something Derek liked for dinner might be a nice gesture, he thought as he reached the town.

It was a small town, and what few stores it had looked like they’d been there for generations, untouched by time or progression. He felt a prickling at the back of his neck as curious eyes followed him the entire way to the grocery store. That was the other thing about small towns - everyone knew everyone else, and outsiders stood out like a sore thumb.

A pickup truck pulled in at the grocery store as Scott approached it. Trophy hunters, judging by the elk’s head lolling over the side of the flatbed and the hunting hound in the cab. He knew the Duvals were a state away, and these were just ordinary, run of the mill hunters, but he gave them a wide berth anyway.

A bell jingled above his head as he entered the store, and an older lady looked up from her place at the register and gave him a warm smile before turning back to the TV. He shrugged, then went about trying to find everything he’d need for a nice rabbit stew.

He was picking out spices for an apple cake as a treat for Jackson when he sensed someone’s eyes on him. He turned to see one of the guys from the truck outside giving him one hell of a dirty look. Scott rolled his eyes and pushed past him with a flat, “Excuse me.”

Scott paid for his armful of groceries and made his way outside. A wave of guilt hit him when he noticed an old payphone nearby. Well, no use putting it off now.

He set his bag at his feet and dialled from memory. It rang three times before she picked up. “Hi, mom.”

“Scott! Where are you calling from? I don’t know this number.”

Scott smiled, something easing in him at the sound of her voice. “A payphone. I’m in town. Sorry I didn’t call earlier.”

“It’s fine, honey. Did Derek tell you..?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “Are you okay? Is he giving you a hard time?” He couldn’t keep the worry out of his voice.

“He’s trying, that’s for sure.”

“Damn it!” Scott cursed. “I can -”

“You can stay right where you are, mister, safe and sound. Evan’s playing dirty, but I can handle him. Will put me in touch with a new lawyer, and we met with your dad this morning.” She chuckled darkly. “Our new lawyer tore him a new one. You should have seen the look on his face!”

Scott cradled the phone close to his ear, listening for her heartbeat, wishing he could talk to her face to face. She’d always been so good at putting on a brave face for him. He didn’t think she was lying, but he wished he could know for sure. “You swear you’re okay?”

“Yes, Scott,” she replied, voice firm. “I miss you like crazy, and I worry myself sick over you every day, but aside from that I’m doing fine.”

“And things are going good with Stiles’ dad? He’s looking out for you?”

She laughed, brightly and freely, and it went a long way to easing Scott’s worry. “Scott McCall, are you implying that I need a man to take care of me?”

“Hell no - I don’t have a suicide wish.” He smiled, hoped she could tell. He lowered his voice. “But seriously. I know my dad’s full of nothing but hot air, but the hunters…”

“Scott, between Will Stilinski and Chris Argent, I think it’s fair to say I’m about as safe as I can possibly be. Besides, it’s not me they’re after. How are things where you are? No trouble?”

“Things are good here,” he told her, and it was true. Sure, sometimes he might complain about living in close quarters with three other guys, but he had his mate, and he had his freedom, and his wolf was more at peace here than it had ever been. He was happy. “I’d better head back now. I told Jackson I’d be home soon.”

His mom laughed. “When do I get my wedding invitation?”

“Mom!”

“I call it as I see it! Tell him ‘hi’ for me.”

He rolled his eyes before he remembered she couldn’t see it. “Bye, mom.”

He put the phone back on the hook and picked his bag up from the ground, preparing to start the long walk home. The elk hunters were leaning against their truck at the edge of town, staring at him again. He looked down at himself to check he was presentable, then wondered what the hell their deal was. Maybe they were just racist dicks.

He was just about to glare right back at them and move on when he noticed the looks the two guys were getting from passers-by. Double takes and curious glances. It seemed they weren’t locals either.

Then another reason occurred to him why a total stranger might look at him like he was dirt on their shoe. Hunters. _Wolf_ hunters. Shit.

He’d already passed the payphone, and he didn’t want to give himself away. He walked, briskly, trying to look as calm as possible. Seconds later, he heard the pickup truck start up. As soon as Scott got to the town’s edge, he dropped his groceries and ran straight for the trees, hoping to lose them.

His heart dropped into his stomach when he heard a hound baying. Shit. They were fucking tracking him. If he ran for home he’d lead them right to the rest of the pack. He thought of Jackson, of what they might do to him, and he felt sick. He’d rather die. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to.

He felt his heart thudding in his chest; felt the wolf in him claw at his control. He eased his hold on it, and the world came into sharp focus as his body thrummed with power. The wolf knew what to do.

He ran, as hard and as fast as his legs would carry him, in the opposite direction of their cabin. He ran through thickets and undergrowth and streams, catching on brambles and stumbling over roots, listening to the bays of a hound in the distance, until he came to a river and almost dropped to his knees in relief. There was no way their dog could track him across that.

He crossed the river and walked for another mile, then slumped to the ground, head in his hands. The pulse at his temple thumped in time to his headache. His body didn’t appreciate being pushed so hard on an empty stomach. He rested for a while, and tried to figure out exactly where in the hell he was, and how he was going to get home to warn his pack.

He got up, reluctantly, and started to walk back south.

 A twig snapping was all the warning he had before a camouflaged hunter snuck up behind him and covered his mouth with a wet cloth. One deep breath and his lungs seized up, paralyzed. Wolfsbane, he thought, panicking. He fell dizzily right into his captor’s arms, unable to breathe, his vision blurring around the edges. Helpless.

His last thought, before the blackness dragged him down into unconsciousness, was of Jackson.


	7. Lydia

Lydia snuggled closer to Stiles’ side, resting her head on his chest to distract him from the hand currently sneaking its way into his bag of candy.

“I saw that,” he said, but it was devoid of irritation, so she felt free to dig in for another piece. “I saw that too.” He chuckled, soft and sleepy. “Luckily for you, my overwhelming relief at having a TV again outweighs my need for a sugar fix.”

“Who’d have thought you’d be so happy to watch chick flicks?” she teased.

“Trust me, at this point I’d be happy with daytime soaps. God, even that stupid fishing channel my dad likes would be better than nothing.” He squeezed her waist, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Thanks. You’re the best girlfriend in the whole world.” He paused. “Even if you did only bring girly DVDs.”

She snorted. “You’re welcome.” Having spent what felt like a lifetime listening to Stiles whine over the phone about the boredom and lack of entertainment at Derek’s place, she’d known instantly what to surprise him with on her visit. Kind of expensive, but worth it. She couldn’t wait to see his face when she told him she’d brought his portable hard drive with her too. For now, well, what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. She settled back down to watch her movie.

After a while, Stiles began to shift, restless. She grinned to herself. She knew he’d never last long. She drew in a breath when Stiles’ fingers found the patch of exposed flesh where her shirt had ridden up and started tracing invisible patterns on her skin. He didn’t make a move to initiate any more contact than that, just the tips of his fingers, blindly exploring. He traced the line of her spine slowly upwards and she shuddered. She didn’t care about the movie anymore.

She grabbed his hand, stilling it, and gave him a significant look as he opened his mouth to speak. She nodded toward the bedroom. “You want to..?” she whispered.

“Hell yes I want to!” he was quick to reply, leaping to his feet and heading straight for his room.

If she’d went right on and followed him her afternoon might have been a lot more enjoyable than it turned out. Instead, she’d glanced over at Jackson to see if he’d noticed their exchange. Big mistake.

He was sitting in the armchair, apparently staring at the TV screen, which was bullshit - she knew for a fact that he hated Moulin Rouge, and that he was physically incapable of not groaning, rolling his eyes, and otherwise acting like a tortured infant when subjected to the last half hour of it. Instead, he looked like he was miles away. She sighed. She’d always been a sucker for that stupid pout.

“Stiles?”

“Yeah?” he said, turning in the doorway.

“I’ll be in in a second. I need to talk to Jackson for a minute.”

Stiles sighed morosely. “Alright.”

She went and gave him a quick peck on the lips, smiling apologetically. “One minute, okay?”

He sighed again, sounding horribly put upon, but resigned. “Sure.”

She perched on the side of Jackson’s chair. He wasn’t even pretending to watch the movie anymore. No, now he was looking out the window instead, searching for something, and suddenly she understood where his thoughts were.

“What’s up?” she asked, even though she was pretty sure she knew.

“It’s stupid,” he mumbled, glancing down.

“Maybe, maybe not,” she said, nudging him in the side. “But it’s bothering you anyway. You worried about Scott?”

He shrugged wordlessly, eyes fixed on some point in the distance, watching. Waiting.

“Stiles said you just kind of have to let him come around on his own when it comes to his dad. Just let him blow off some steam -”

“It’s not -” Jackson gusted out a breath, rubbing a hand over the back of his head. “It’s just - he should have been home by now. He said he’d only be a couple of hours.” An admission of worry he hadn’t meant to make.

Lydia shrugged. “He probably just lost track of time. You know how time flies when you’re pissed off and wallowing.”

“Yeah. Probably.” He smiled for her, but it was tight, fake.

Lydia looked at Jackson - really looked at him - and saw real concern in his eyes. More than he was letting on. “A couple of hours, you said?”

Jackson nodded.

“I guess five hours _is_ a little excessive.” Lydia let out a resigned sigh. “I guess we should try to find him then. I don’t suppose he brought his cell phone?”

Jackson pulled Scott’s phone from his back pocket, waving it for her to see. “When does he ever?”

“Shit. I guess we should ask Derek what we should do.”

Derek was in his bedroom when they found him. He looked over the top of his book at them at the disturbance, brow raised like an impatient librarian. “What?”

“It’s nothing…” Jackson said, already backing off. Probably embarrassed that they might realise he had actual feelings, like most mere mortals.

Lydia looked at him sternly and caught his arm, stilling him. “Scott never came home. We’re worried,” she told Derek, matter of fact and blunt.

Derek put his book down and looked at the clock on the wall. “When did he leave?”

“Nearly five hours ago,” Jackson told him. “I don’t care how shitty a mood he might have been in - he’d have said something if he was going to be that long.” His voice was strained, struggling to keep the distress out of it.

Derek’s brows had drawn down into a dark frown. “Shit,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “Six months ago he might have pulled that - but not now. Something’s not right.”

“What’s not right?” Stiles asked from the doorway, drawn in by the hushed voices. It was on Lydia’s tongue to apologise for keeping the poor guy hanging, but right now he didn’t look like he cared, as worry began to creep into his expression.

“We’re going to look for Scott,” Derek said. “He was going to town - we’ll start there. Stiles, you’re second until we find him.”

“Hey -”

“No, Jackson. You’re his mate - don’t try to tell me you can be in the least bit objective.” Derek turned to Stiles. “Don’t look so pleased with yourself, you’re not that much better a choice right now. If Lydia was a wolf I’d choose her in a heartbeat.”

Lydia tried not to preen under the unexpected praise. The boys looked almost sullen, but held their tongues.

“Come on - we’re wasting time,” Derek said gruffly, and stalked out to his car, followed sombrely by the rest of them.

Stiles paused with his hand on the door handle and looked guiltily at Jackson. “I didn’t even realise he’d been gone that long…”

Jackson shrugged. None of them had, except for him. Lydia smiled reassuringly at him. “Wait’ll you see, we’ll get in the car and catch up with him five minutes away from the house.”

They didn’t. Miles passed, and they saw neither hide nor hair of Scott McCall. Jackson and Stiles argued over whether they should get out and track the path he’d taken into town - there was no guarantee he’d even made it that far, if they were perfectly honest with themselves.

“Shut up you two,” Derek growled, instantly silencing Stiles and Jackson. “We’re going to town first - we can ask if anyone saw him.”

The old lady in the grocery store was happy to answer Derek’s questions. “Yes, I saw your little brother, dear. Polite little thing, isn’t he? You must have raised him right. So rare to see that in teenagers nowadays…”

Derek suppressed a growl. “Very well mannered, yes. Did you see where he went, ma’am?”

“I think he used the payphone outside. That’s what Bob Hastings said, anyway. You don’t see people use it these days.”

Derek sighed, though Lydia doubted the old girl caught it. “Thank you, ma’am.”

They inspected the payphone, saw no signs of a struggle.

“Probably called his mom,” Stiles said, scratching his head, even as Jackson wandered off, barely containing the palpable frustration coming off him in waves.

“Maybe you should call her, see if there was anything -”

Stiles shook his head. “Thought of that. She’d have let us know if anything seemed off.”

“Guys!” Jackson called from a distance.

They caught up with him where the road met the woods. He was standing over a torn plastic bag, the groceries it had held strewn all over the ground. A gallon jug of milk had burst where it met the dirt, drenching the fruit and vegetables that had rolled out of the bag.

“Well, at least he remembered the milk…” Stiles said, trying to lighten the mood. Jackson glared him into silence.

Derek walked slowly, scenting the air, crouching down to examine the tracks in the dirt. “He ran here.” He followed the trail, silent, face set in stone. He paused after a few steps. “Someone was following. No, two of them.” He knelt down to look carefully at a paw print. “Shit. They had a dog tracking him. Most hunters don’t bother with that.”

Jackson whipped round to stare at Derek in alarm. “Hunters? Are you sure?”

Derek closed his eyes and slumped forward, looking like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

“Derek!”

Derek blinked up at Jackson, apology in his eyes. “Who else? I should have known…”

Stiles paced in a tight circle, eyes flicking back and forth as he frantically tried to come up with a solution. Lydia put a hand on his arm to stop him, squeezing. There was naked fear in his eyes when he looked at her. She swallowed, unable to come up with some useless platitude to make him feel better.

“Then we’ll just have to track him,” Jackson said suddenly, breaking the tense silence.

Derek gave a tight nod. “We can try, but the trail’s hours old…”

“We’re going to find him,” Jackson said firmly. Trying to make himself believe it. Nobody told him different.

The wolves followed the trail. It seemed Scott had led the hunters on a merry chase, through brambles and streams and tangled thickets. They paused at the river, scenting the air for clues.

“It stops here,” Derek said. “He must have crossed over.”

They waded through the river, Stiles helping Lydia over. Wet, cold and miserable, her heart sank as she watched them pace up and down the riverbank, trying and failing to pick up the trail. Sympathetic tears stung her eyes as she watched Jackson scrutinize every inch of riverbank with grim, desperate determination. Further and further, until she was tempted to call him back, tell him it was no use. Somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

Stiles touched her wrist and glanced over at Jackson, silently asking her what he should do. She opened her mouth to speak when Jackson’s voice called, “Here! He came up here!”

There it was; a set of muddy, smeared footprints, leading into the woods.

Derek smiled. “Good job, Jackson.”

Jackson didn’t preen at the praise. Didn’t acknowledge it at all, just strode off, following the trail, sniffing delicately at the air. The others followed.

They loped along at a wolf’s pace as the tracks became more obvious, as if Scott had grown complacent, and Lydia struggled to keep up, thankful at least that she hadn’t been wearing heels. She grit her teeth and bore it. There was no way she was going to turn to those three and complain about her sore feet.

They’d followed for nearly a mile when Derek stopped in his tracks, face screwed up in disgust. Jackson and Stiles weren’t long in following his lead, although Jackson bulled on a little further than the rest.

“God, what the hell is that smell?” Stiles choked out.

“Keep going,” Derek said, though honestly, he kind of looked like he’d rather stick needles in his eyes.

They powered on, though considerably slower, until even Lydia could smell it now, though it was a lot fainter to her nose. Sharp and kind of acidic, like lemongrass. It was familiar. For some reason it reminded her of the spray they’d used to get Mitsy to stop chewing the couch. She paused. “Is that citronella?”

Derek groaned. “It’s a god damned scent bomb! Cover your noses!”

The wolves pulled off their shirts and tied them haphazardly around their mouths and noses to form makeshift facemasks. They couldn’t track the scent anymore, but there were still some prints on the ground. They followed those instead, though they looked more and more likely to vomit with every step they took.

Suddenly Derek stopped and dropped to his knees to peer at a set of great, smearing marks on the ground. “This is where they caught him,” he murmured, voice muffled. Lydia heard Jackson take a shaky, gasping breath beside her. Derek pointed on further. “These are drag marks. He must have been unconscious then.”

Lydia leaned into Jackson, offering comfort. He shrank back from her touch as if scalded, staggering off to try to read signs he had no way of understanding.

Derek led them silently, losing the trail once or twice when the hunters had taken a path over fallen leaves and dry dirt, leaving little to nothing for Derek to track. Eventually they came to a road, and Lydia’s heart sank. She looked to Derek for confirmation, and watched him shake his head.

Jackson wasn’t going to give up so easily. He walked into the road, looking about desperately. “No, that can’t be it. It can’t.”

Stiles went to stand with Jackson, looking dazed. “I’ve heard about dogs following scents from cars. Maybe, if they left a window open..?”

Derek shook his head again, resigned. “Uncover your nose for a minute and try to smell something.”

Stiles and Jackson did as he asked, immediately gagging. “Ugh,” Stiles groaned, face scrunched up in distaste. “My nose is burning.”

Derek nodded. “Aftereffects. Your sense of smell won’t be up to scratch for a good few hours at least, and the trail will be well and truly cold by then. I doubt we’d have been able to even without the citronella.”

“We can’t just give up!” Jackson yelped in disbelief.

“I didn’t say we should,” Derek gritted out. “But there’s not much else we can do here. At least we know hunters have taken him, and that he’s alive.”

Stiles placed a gentling hand on Jackson’s shoulder. “We can go home and talk to Allison, maybe she’ll know something.”

Jackson drew his hands through his hair and tugged painfully. He looked back at the road and gave a guttural moan that rended at Lydia’s heart. He looked back at them after a moment with silver eyes and spat at the ground by Derek’s feet. Derek didn’t rebuke him for it.

They walked back to the car in tense, oppressive silence.

Derek kept shooting Jackson furtive, guilty looks on the drive home. Jackson was too distracted to notice, but Lydia did. She waited until they’d arrived back at the cabin and Stiles and Jackson had trudged back inside to corner Derek on his own.

“What do you know that we don’t?”

Derek whipped round to face her, fierce and frankly sort of scary. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Well, if he thought he could intimidate her into dropping it, he had another think coming. “I’m not blind, Hale. I know a guilty look when I see one. What have you got to feel guilty for, huh?”

He tried to stare her down and she laughed in his face. He scowled and looked away. His face was almost stricken suddenly, and he leaned wearily on the porch railing, looking blankly out into the forest. “The cops found Gretchen washed up on a riverbank a little while back. Well, half of her.” At Lydia’s questioning look, he elaborated. “Gretchen was a friend of my sister’s. A werewolf.”

Lydia sucked in a breath. “You mean you knew there were hunters around, and you didn’t -”

“There was no way of knowing for sure if it was connected,” Derek said, visibly trying to make Lydia understand. “I didn’t want to worry them.”

Before Lydia could reply, the front door jerked open and suddenly Jackson was right in Derek’s face, spitting mad.

“You _didn’t want to worry us_? What the fuck, Derek?” he yelled.

Shit, Lydia thought. She’d forgotten about the super-hearing.

Jackson had backed Derek right up to the railing, shirt bunched up in his fists. Derek just looked back at him, sad and accepting, like he’d expected this reaction. Stiles was looking on mutely from the doorway, expression grim.

“If you’d told us -”

“I didn’t know for sure -”

“I wouldn’t have let him go wandering off on his own!” Jackson cried, eyes bright with fury and unshed tears. “How could you let him -” His voice cut off, choked with anger. His fist struck out. Derek didn’t flinch as the post beside his head exploded in a shower of splinters. Jackson howled in frustration and stalked off into the woods.

“He’s right,” Stiles said quietly, voice deadened. “You should have told us.”

Derek’s lips quirked into something far too bitter for a smile. “I know that now. You want to rub it in some more?”

Stiles shook his head mutely and went to stand beside Lydia. His hand trembled where it rested on her waist.

Derek went back in the house and all the tension went out of Stiles’ body. He slumped against her and huffed a heavy, trembling breath against her neck. She took his hand and squeezed. “We’ll find him,” she said softly.

“We better,” he breathed. “You want to call Allison?”

She took out her phone and hit the speed dial. It rang about a dozen times before she picked up.

“Hi mom!” Allison said brightly. She had company then.

“You with them?”

“Jeez, mom, I know it’s only my second hunt, but my friends are here. I’m safe.”

Obviously Allison was limited in what she could say. Wait, what did she say? “You’ve been _hunting_?”

“My first kill was justified, don’t you worry. Completely above board.” Her voice was light, chiding, like she hadn’t just admitted to killing a werewolf.

“Shit, Allison, what have you got yourself into?”

“Nothing I can’t handle.” Her voice cracked there, betraying her lie. Shit. Lydia swallowed. There was nothing she could do from here.

“God, it looks like you’ve got enough on your plate right now, but we’re desperate here. Look, Scott’s missing, and we’re pretty sure a couple of hunters took him. We need you to find out whatever you can.”

“What?” Allison croaked, voice going shrill. She coughed, recovering. “I don’t know anything about that, mom, but I’ll call you later, okay?”

Lydia pressed her lips together, worried. “This isn’t safe, is it? I’ll call back later, okay? In a couple of hours?”

“That’d be great. Talk to you later.” Allison’s voice was bright with fake cheer.

“Bye. Take care of yourself,” she said, and listened to the buzz of a disconnected line. She looked at Stiles.

“Shit,” he said simply.

“Yes, shit.” Allison had kind of been their last hope.

“She’s got connections now though. If anyone has a chance of finding anything out it’s her,” Stiles rationalised.

Lydia nodded, looking out into the woods, watching for movement. The last thing they needed was another pack member going missing. She wrung Stiles’ hand in hers. “Why don’t you go on inside. I’ll wait for Jackson.”

Stiles raised a brow at her and shrugged. Then she was by herself. She gusted out a sigh and sat down on the decrepit old swing, wincing at the creak of the rusty chains. She waited.

Jackson came back after another half an hour, and looked at her in surprise before apparently deciding to ignore her in favour of pacing the length of the porch.

She let Jackson continue to stew in his own angst until the relentless back and forth movement forced her to break the silence.

“Quit it, Whittemore. You’re making me dizzy.”

Jackson spared her a withering glare. “You’re free to leave any time, Martin.”

Lydia raised a brow at him and waited until he wilted with a sigh and threw himself onto the swing beside her, making the wood creak ominously. She leaned into his side, silently offering comfort.

“Why are you here?” he said flatly.

Lydia rolled her eyes at him. “Don’t give me that attitude. I’m here to see if you’re okay, asshole.” Her words were harsh, but her tone was affectionate.

It said a lot that he couldn’t even come up with a properly scathing retort. He swallowed, blinking rapidly, as if his eyes were wet, before quickly looking away, and fuck if that wasn’t disconcerting.

“I don’t know what to say,” she admitted, helpless tears stinging her eyes.

“Lie to me?” he whispered, so soft she barely heard him.

Lydia leaned her body against his, stroked his hair gently and forced hope into her unsteady voice. “I don’t need to. Everything will be fine. Allison will know exactly what to do and we’ll find him. We’ll find him and he’s going to be fine…”

She sat with him, a silent, comforting presence at his side, until the moon rose in the night sky, waxing, full of promise.


	8. Scott

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strong warning for detailed scenes of torture.

The room they kept him in was pitch black; there were no windows, and not the faintest hint of light escaped from under the reinforced metal door. Scott shifted, curling tighter in on himself, trying to preserve whatever body heat he could. The chain attached to the metal collar around his neck jingled with the movement, the sound, small though it was, jarring to his now oversensitive ears.

He’d followed the chain once, searching blindly on hands and knees until he came to the place it met the wall. It hadn’t been until he felt the velvet soft petals under his fingers and the telltale stinging in his nostrils as he’d breathed in the scent that he’d realised they’d woven the chain with wolfsbane at the base to keep him from tampering with it.

He ought to feel grateful, really, for the constant quiet whirring of the air conditioner and the gust of cold air it brought with it - it was the only thing keeping his lungs from seizing up in such close proximity to the poisonous little flower. The only thing that kept the acrid tang of his own waste from making him sick.

Shivers wracked him until his ribs ached, the near freezing cold cutting at his naked body like a knife. It might be keeping him alive and conscious right now, but he couldn’t be grateful for it. Not when they’d made it into just another little slice of hell for him.

How long had it been? Days? Weeks? More? He had no way of knowing. No way of keeping track of time when his days and nights were nothing but endless black, interrupted only when they dragged him out into harsh, artificial light for anther session.

How long since they’d fed him then? A couple of days, maybe, judging by the gnawing, fierce ache in his stomach. They’d come soon, he guessed, with something to eat. Not enough to really sate his hunger, no, but enough so that the one mercy of starvation - the eventual loss of hunger - would be denied him. The fact that it would be raw meat in a metal dog bowl only made it worse. He told himself he wouldn’t eat it; wouldn’t give them the satisfaction, but he knew even as he thought it that it was a lie.

His wolf stirred at the thought of his captors, a sudden, malignant presence in his mind; slinking, circling, poking at him as if it sensed weakness. Visions of bloodshed danced in his thoughts, of the sweet tearing of flesh and the rending of limbs. _Vengeance_ , the wolf purred. _Make them pay…_

For a second, Scott could almost taste the metallic tang of blood on his tongue; sweet and hot and satisfying.

It took a moment for his conscience to kick in; when it did, he shuddered violently, his empty stomach roiling with guilt. His humanity snapped back into place and the wolf slunk away, moping. Jesus. It was getting harder to keep those instincts at bay.

It was hard to do anything that required any amount of concentration now. Everything in this place was designed to keep him off balance, and much as he hated to admit it, it was working. He felt adrift; lost. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep this up, not when the wolf was constantly wheedling at him, waiting for him to slip.

He let his thoughts settle on his pack, his anchors. Derek would come for him. Stiles had probably already come up with a plan, and Jackson -

Something ached in him at the thought of his mate, and he swallowed dryly. His wolf gave a lonesome little whine. He’d tried to stay hopeful, as best he could, but he was beginning  to realise he might not see any of them again. That this might be it for him; that all he could do now was to hold his tongue and try not to make himself a murderer before he died. His eyes stung, thinking of how he’d never had the courage to tell Jackson how he felt.

He remembered a day, what felt like a lifetime ago, when he’d felt sunlight on his skin and his mate’s warmth against him. He remembered curling closer, and looking at Jackson with everything he felt shining in his eyes.

He remembered the guileless, sweet smile that had answered him, and the exact moment Jackson woke up enough to slam his defences back into place, pulling back with his nose scrunched up in distaste.

“Stop making that stupid face at me,” he’d said.

“What stupid face?” Scott had replied, scowling right back, though he’d kind of felt like someone had kicked him in the gut.

“I’m expecting an ‘Oh, Allison!’ any minute now,” Jackson had said mockingly, batting his eyelashes exaggeratedly.

Scott had been too stung to say anything, and turned away before Jackson could see the hurt on his face.

After a minute of awkward silence and a relenting sigh, Jackson had pressed up against his back and laid his head on his shoulder. “Okay, Jesus, you can give me all the ridiculous moony eyes you want, but would you stop sulking now, please?” His breath tickled Scott’s ear, and Scott couldn’t help laughing.

They’d went back to acting like it never happened after, letting the awkwardness of it slide, and Jackson had never made fun of him for it since, but that first reaction had cut deep. Scott couldn’t forget that the last time he’d pushed too far, Jackson had tossed him aside like yesterday’s trash. He wouldn’t say the words until Jackson was ready, he’d told himself, but it had been fear, plain and simple, that had stayed his tongue.

If he got to see Jackson again, he was going to tell him, fear be damned. ‘If’ was a mighty big word, though, under the circumstances.

He blinked in the darkness, eyes heavy. Everything ached now, and he wasn’t sure if it was down to the hunger, the ever healing wounds on his body, or the fact that he was so exhausted he could cry. He let his tired eyes close, and before he knew it he’d drifted off to sleep.

He had no idea how much time had passed when the piercing shriek of the alarm woke him. He moaned pitifully and covered his ears to shield them from the pain. It continued, unmindful of the agony piercing through his skull.

The alarm stopped suddenly. Scott hesitantly lowered his hands. There was a buzzing in his ears, but that was nothing new. It would go away in a minute or two, though it seemed to take a little bit longer each time. It was taking his body longer to heal than it should, lately.

He didn’t have time to reflect on that, as the door burst open, flooding the room with light. Scott scrunched his eyes closed as soon as he realised what was going on, but it still hurt like hell. He knew he’d be blind as a bat for at least a few minutes. Which wouldn’t help him with what he needed to do now.

A hand lighted on Scott’s shoulder and he turned towards the source, feeling blindly for a forearm. He flung his captor into the wall with what little strength was left to him and turned in what he thought was the direction of the other one. His hearing was coming back a little now, though the buzzing persisted. He heard the swish of clothes to his left and hurled himself into it, clawing sightlessly. A curse told him he’d hit his mark.

He didn’t realise the first one was behind him until a cattle prod was slammed into his ribs. Electricity coursed through him, and he collapsed to the ground, sapped of strength. That was all the chance they needed.

The next part involved a lot of pain, and ended with a boot pressed threateningly on his windpipe. “You done fighting us, pup?”

Scott squinted up at the hunter that kept him pinned. Stocky, bald and ugly as sin. Fantastic. That one seemed to have it in for him. Well, even more than every other son of a bitch in this place did. The boot on his throat pressed down, hard enough to bruise, slowly cutting off his air. He nodded wordlessly. The pressure actually increased as the bald bastard looked down at him, pure hatred in his eyes. Blood trickled down his face from a set of claw marks on his cheek.

“Come on, Tommy, we’re not done with him yet,” the other thug wheedled at the bald goon, pulling him back, Scott’s loose chain already in hand.

Before Scott had a chance to even move, someone was on him, twisting his hands behind him and shoving him down onto his front. Steel handcuffs reinforced with mountain ash were swiftly clicked onto his wrists. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay down this time, kid.”

Each time they dragged him out of his cell he fought them like his life depended on it, but right now he just hadn’t the energy for it. “Just get it over with,” he told them tiredly.

The hunter pulled him to his feet and pushed him, stumbling, along the corridor. “Come on, kiddo, where’s all that spunk of yours gone? A couple of days ago you were ready to tear us all a shiny new asshole.” He was fucking smiling, like it was all a joke. Scott snarled wordlessly.

The bald one poked him in the side as he walked beside them, smirking. “He’s weak as a newborn kitten right now, man. Couldn’t fight his way out of a paper bag.”

“Is that why you look like a scratching post, then?” Scott mumbled under his breath.

The bald goon lunged at him. “What was that?”

The hunter leading Scott ducked between them, hands up placatingly. “Come on, man. We don’t have time for this. The boss wants to try something new today, remember?”

Scott’s stomach dropped. Usually his ‘sessions’ involved being chained to something or other, whipped raw, then hosed down with some kind of solution that stung his open wounds like acid. He’d nearly bitten his tongue clean off more than once, just to keep himself from telling them anything. He’d barely healed from the last time. He didn’t want to contemplate what might be worse than that.

His gut churned with apprehension as they led him through the compound, past the usual interrogation room and up the stairs. They came to a stop in a clinical white bathroom, and he became irrationally angry that they were fucking with him by stopping for a god damn piss break. Then he noticed the bathtub full of water and Hazel Duval standing right next to it. He froze in his tracks.

Hazel smiled slowly, face as serene as could be. “Thanks, boys,” she told his jailers as they shoved him, struggling, to his knees in front of the tub. She leaned over, stroking Scott’s hair thoughtfully. Scott shuddered at the touch, held too tightly to flinch away from it. Hazel just smiled wider. “Simple pain almost never works on his kind, you know. Not quickly, anyway. They heal so fast that pain is transient for them. No, with werewolves, you have to get creative.”

She drew long nailed fingertips through the water, watching the ripples tranquilly. “The military’s pretty big on waterboarding right now. It’s effective, and not usually deadly. Better for PR.” She grinned prettily. “Me, I’m an old fashioned kind of girl. Why waterboard when drowning works just fine?”

Scott struggled then. He fought with everything he had left in him, but it was no good - his hands were pinned behind his back and soon there were strong hands on his shoulders, dragging him forward. He had time to take one last, deep breath before they put their hands on his neck and pushed his head under the water.

For a minute or two he thought he could cope with it. Then his air ran out and his survival instinct kicked in. He tried to pull back, but the hands holding him down were iron; inexorable. His hands were pinned behind his back; he couldn’t gain any leverage. His lungs were burning now, and he couldn’t break free, no matter how much he thrashed and fought and flailed.

He opened his mouth, unthinking, desperate to suck in a breath. Water filled his lungs instead, and he panicked. His airways spasmed closed - a drowning reflex - and that made the panic increase tenfold. Mindless terror flooded his brain and he could feel the wild, pulsing beat of his heart all through his body; felt the primal fear coursing through him like a living thing. _I’m dying. They’re going to kill me and I’ll never see my pack again. I’m going to die_. The world went black around the edges.

He came to on the ground, with rough hands pumping water out of his stomach. He lurched to his knees, bent double, retching bath water onto the floor. He trembled helplessly when Hazel dug her fingernails into his shoulder.

“Poor little puppy,” she crooned at him. “I’m sorry, puppy, but this is going to happen, again and again, until you tell us what we need to know.” Her voice hardened, cold as stone. “Where is your pack? Where’s Derek Hale?”

The one thought in his mind was that he couldn’t tell. Not that. Anything but that.

Apparently he took too long to respond. They dragged him, still moaning and heaving, back to the bathtub.

Again and again, his world became nothing but sheer panic and a desperate desire to survive. They drowned him until his lungs burned in his chest, and dragged him up long enough to scream their demands in his ears. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t hold out.

Then his wolf was there in his mind, utterly furious, seething with power. _Mate_ , it reminded him. _Pack_. He could feel the wildness surging up inside him, struggling to break free. The wolf in him was strong; it would protect them. He’d been so afraid to lose control; so afraid of the violent fantasies that sprung to his mind with each indignity laid upon him. He didn’t want to come back to himself and find himself a murderer. Fuck, what choice did he have? His pack needed him.

A howl escaped him as the wolf in him took charge, shouldering his captors aside. He turned to Hazel, snarling, and suddenly he didn’t care so much about casualties. He lunged.

Electricity coursed through his body as a hunter caught him in the back with a cattle prod. He roared, still struggling with the handcuffs. Then there were three bodies holding him down as he struggled. A wet cloth came down over his face and the world went black.

***

It took him a little while, when he woke, to realise he couldn’t get a deep breath. He found himself reaching blindly for an inhaler he didn’t have before he remembered where he was, and what had happened.

 _Pulmonary edema_ , he told himself. He’d seen animals brought into the clinic with water on the lungs, it didn’t mean they were dying. He wasn’t dying. It was just panic making his heart pound in his chest, and he had to get it under control before he had a full blown panic attack.

He sat up straight, back to the wall, and focused on taking breaths as slow and deep as his damaged lungs would allow. He tried to imagine what Dr. Deaton might do - give oxygen, fluids, maybe diuretics. He didn’t have any of that, but he did have a werewolf’s accelerated healing. He’d just have to trust his body to do its job.

The wolf was on edge, reacting to Scott’s panic and making it worse, searching for an enemy that wasn’t there. It wanted a quiet corner it could curl up and hide in to lick its wounds, and the fact that all it had was this place just unsettled it further. Shit, it really wasn’t helping, Scott thought desperately as he fought to keep calm, to keep his breathing even.

He tried to think of something to take his mind off the tightness in his chest. A memory. Something nice.

He was in the woods, in Derek’s territory. The ground under his bare feet was damp, earthy, and the air filling his lungs heavy and fragrant. He had his pack around him, sharp toothed and smiling, and they were hunting by starlight. He could feel the moon on his back, sending a ripple of power singing through his body.

 _Blood on the tongue, fur under claw_ , the wolf supplied, sighing happily. There really was something about bringing down prey with your pack, Scott admitted. A sense of achievement; of brotherhood. He missed it fiercely. Missed his pack.

He came back to the present only to realise he was howling. Weakly, and interspersed with wheezing, but howling nonetheless. There wasn’t any point, he told himself. His pack couldn’t hear him.

Scott blinked in the darkness, eyes wet. He scrubbed at them angrily. There was no use in crying in this place. He curled himself up tightly and closed his eyes, praying for the simple release of sleep.

***

The next time they brought him out they took him to the torture chamber instead of the bathroom, and he was absurdly grateful, even if it meant he was going to bleed tonight. Pain he could take, but there was no resisting the instinctive, primal response of drowning.

He wasn’t so grateful when they started flaying little pieces of skin from his back.

“You see that, Zeke?” the bald hunter was telling an ashen faced kid no older than Scott. “See the way these freaks heal? And believe me, this is slow for his kind. This pup’s kind of worse for wear right now, but if it was at full health these would already be scabbed over by now. An hour from now you’d never know it’d been cut in the first place.”

The hunter prodded at one healing wound and Scott roared in agony. His whole back felt like it was on fire, but the _itching_ as his skin struggled to grow back was enough to drive him out of his mind. He wished there was some kind of balance he could strike with his wolf to make this more tolerable, but the pain only made him more human. Something in him thought that maybe if he let go - just let the wolf take over completely - there’d be nothing but an animal for them to torture, but the thought of losing himself terrified him. What if he pushed his own consciousness far enough down that he couldn’t claw his way back again?

“Hey, Zeke,” another hunter, the black one with the laughing eyes, if Scott heard right, called to the kid, moving closer. “Did Tommy tell you his ex-girlfriend used to fuck one of these things? I’m surprised his dick hasn’t fallen off from some weird kind of werewolf STD.”

“Shut the fuck up about Kate!” the bald hunter yelled, hand tightening on Scott’s slashed shoulder.

Shit. That explained a lot about why that one had it in for him.

The other hunter moved closer, apparently deciding to drop the issue. He moved in behind Scott, making him tense, and put a hand at the back of his neck, moving his hair aside. Scott’s skin prickled where he’d been touched. “I think this one’s gay. It was always hanging around that other one in Beacon Hills. You know, the pretty one? That one had a mating mark, come to think of it.”

Baldie laughed, insult forgotten. “That mean it’s the bitch?”

Scott growled, feeling something building deep inside him; feeling his humanity slip away by inches, despite the pain.

“Oh, temper temper, puppy,” the other hunter said, laughter in his voice, oblivious to how far he was pushing his victim. He reached around and squeezed between Scott’s legs, painfully hard. “You wouldn’t want us to have to neuter you, would you?”

“Its little friend, too, when we catch it,” the bald one said carelessly, laughter in his voice, and Scott lost it.

The wolf threw his head back and roared, pulling with all his strength at his restraints. They’d grown lax, thinking him weak. The single chain at his throat snapped, and the leather cuffs on his wrists split like paper. The humans scrambled from him, panicked and unprepared. The scent of fear filled him with deep satisfaction. He swiped one set of deadly claws at the hairless one as he leapt at it, landing on its back. Its skin parted like butter and it shrieked like a dying rabbit. The wolf grinned, and raised its claws once more.

Pain registered, somewhere beyond his fury, as the little one rammed his side with a cattle prod. Its face was white with terror as he looked at it. It backed away on its own.

He turned to the other hunter instead. It swallowed, but stood its ground as he advanced on it. It raised a shotgun and aimed. Its finger trembled on the trigger.

“Don’t fucking shoot it!” a woman’s voice called.

Then there were dozens of them, all waiting for their chance to get even. He went down fighting.

***

Scott came back to himself, little by little, inch by inch, but he felt detached from it all somehow. The hunters had ramped up their security and their punishments both in the interim, and his wolf was a constant presence, reassuring and protective. It was easier, now, when they opened his cell door, to just retreat back into himself and let the wolf take over.

The wolf didn’t care that when they fed him at all, it was raw meat from a bowl that said ‘Fido’ on the side; paid no mind to the fact that they thought him less than human. It didn’t feel degraded by living like a dog on the end of a chain. It didn’t take it personally when they took him out to torture him. More importantly, it didn’t have the words to tell them what they wanted to know, when they bothered asking at all these days.

Scott felt safe; protected, for the first time since he’d been taken. He was too far away for them to hurt him now. All he had to do now was wait - for death, or peace, whichever came first.

It was night. He knew that because he could feel the moon, almost full, calling to him, singing her siren song, lending him strength.

They came for him in silence, knowing they’d no longer get a reaction out of him. The wolf went docilely, biding his time.

They took him to the usual place, and it was only when he saw the stand they meant to tie him to, wreathed in many coloured wolfsbane and penned in by mountain ash, that he balked, fighting them with all his weakened strength.

There were many eyes watching him when they forced him to the stand and secured him to it, and for a moment he thought he felt a flash of recognition as he saw a flash of dark curls in the crowd. He let the emotion fade, knowing it didn’t help the wolf do what it needed to. He knew a bunch of these sick fucks from Beacon Hills, so why did this one make cruel, baseless hope rise up in him? Pale skin and a dark tumble of curls kept resurfacing in his mind. He swallowed, and forced himself to dissociate, to let the wolf take control again.

Pain followed, and meaningless screaming in his ears. The wolf stayed strong, because Scott was too far away for the pain to reach him.

The hunter behind him put down his whip, and the wolf sagged in his restraints.

“How often does this happen?” he heard a voice say, subtly trembling, and it was so familiar that he couldn’t help but focus on it. “You’ve had him for nearly two weeks now, and he hasn’t told you anything. What’s the point of this?”

“I know, Ali,” Hazel Duval said, sighing. “My mom told me once that you could push them so far they became pure beast, but I didn’t believe her. Fuck, this is pointless. It’s never going to tell us anything when it’s like _this_.” She sighed again, disappointed. “You’re right Ali - I might as well give up. I’ll have it executed tomorrow. Still, it’s been great training for the inductees, don’t you think?”

Scott lost focus then, as three or four hunters took him down from the restraints, rousing the wolf into anger once more, and then his world was nothing but tooth and claw and a desperate fight he couldn’t win.

***

He paced the length of his dark little room after, feeling the prickling of the moon he couldn’t see on his bare skin, his whole body longing to be outside, under its light. Tomorrow would be worse, when it was full.

He was ready, eyes slitted to protect them, when the cell door crept open slowly, flooding the room with light. He growled and shifted on his haunches, waiting. He wasn’t going down without a fight.

A girl stepped inside hesitantly, slender and doe-like, with a halo of dark curls around her face. She gasped in a breath when she saw him. “Scott…”

Teeth bared in a snarl of mindless fury, the wolf lunged.


	9. Allison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Runs partially parallel to chapter eight. Warnings for torture and gore.

  
“You’re sure you don’t want to stay with me and Hazel?” Caleb called out the open window of his truck as Allison walked toward the hotel entrance.

Allison turned, bag slung over her shoulder, affecting a warm smile. “No, I’m good here. I really do need my own space - I’m a nightmare to live with, believe me. But thanks for asking!” Her face hurt from all the fake smiles she’d had to dole out over the last few days, but with any luck, it was about to pay off.

Caleb shrugged, looking more than a little disappointed. “Alright. I’ll come pick you up tomorrow night, okay?”

“That’s great! See you then!” Allison said enthusiastically, and kept a painfully wide smile on her face until she saw the pickup truck turn the corner. She let her smile drop, and turned tiredly to the hotel.

She made her way to the front desk. “Please tell me there’s a room reserved under ‘Argent.’”

The place was small, so the receptionist didn’t even have to look at the computer. “There sure is - room twenty-two, miss. That’s the second floor. Go right on up,” she said, handing Allison her key card.

“Thanks,” Allison replied, relieved that at least this one little thing had gone to plan.

She trudged tiredly up the stairs to the second floor, bypassing the broken elevator, found the room, and swiped her card, letting the door swing open with a tired sigh.

“Well?” Jackson demanded right off the bat, already rising. Stiles pushed him gently back down to sit on the bed, but his eyes were just as intense; two dark brown pools boring into Allison’s soul, searching for answers. Derek and Lydia were no less intent. Her father emerged from the bathroom, a hundred questions in his eyes.

“I think this is it,” she told them, and watched as they all sagged in relief, bar her dad, who just tensed up further.

“They have him then?” Stiles asked, hopeful.

Allison dropped gracelessly into the unoccupied chair by the dresser, toeing her hiking boots off her aching feet. “They’re finally offering to show me the local compound. They do have him - I know that much. A couple of them were bragging about bagging a Hale wolf when they thought I wasn’t listening. I also know they’re hiding something about that place. Whether they’re keeping him there or not I can’t say for sure.”

“Your best guess?” her dad asked.

“More than likely, but I don’t want to get everyone’s hopes up…”

Her dad nodded, thoughtful. “We’ll go ahead with the plan anyway.”

Derek nodded briefly. “Better safe than sorry.”

“Exactly.” Her dad focused his eyes on her and she shifted in her seat, feeling like he could read everything she wasn’t saying on her face. “You’re sure you’re ready to do this?”

She quirked her lips into something too brief for a true smile. “As I’ll ever be.” Something fluttered in her stomach, nervous and dreading the day to come. There was a lot that could go wrong.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I do,” she said, voice firm; implacable. Did he really think she’d let Scott rot in some hunter’s compound for one second longer than he had to if she had the slightest say in the matter?

“Alright.” Her dad sighed in capitulation, and bent to retrieve a knapsack from the floor. “The council hasn’t seen fit to provide us with proper backup - all the viable operatives are otherwise occupied, or so they say -”

“In other words, until a human is in direct danger, they don’t give two shits,” Stiles said dryly, shaking his head.

Allison’s dad shrugged, not denying it. He pulled what looked like a microchip from the bag, holding it up for her to see. “This is a GPS tracking chip,” he said, handing it to her. “We’ll put this in your shoe so they’re less likely to find it.” He rustled about in the bag some more, emerging with something that looked so like her wolf necklace that her hand immediately darted to her throat to check it was still there.

“This is the listening device. It’s thicker than your pendant, and it’s not made of silver, so be careful about letting them look at it closely,” he said, passing her the necklace.

She tumbled it in her hands, noting the way it differed in weight and feel. She nodded. “Close enough. This is enough for a conviction?”

“If you catch them saying or doing the wrong thing it is,” her dad said.

Stiles snorted. “So you mean maybe, but only if they’re directly in the process of killing him. Or admit to threatening a human.”

Her dad didn’t have anything to say to that, something like quiet shame casting his features in shadow.

“I don’t care about your stupid council,” Derek growled, voice rumbling, lip curled in a snarl. “If they’ve harmed a hair on his fucking head I won’t leave enough of them for your damn council to find!”

“Calm down, son -”

Jackson leapt to his feet, suddenly savage, looking at her dad like he couldn’t believe his ears. “ _Calm down_? You want us to fucking _calm down_? They’ve had him for nearly two fucking weeks, doing God only knows what to him, and your precious fucking council’s done nothing but sit on its ass, twiddling its fucking thumbs, because humans are _so much fucking better than us_. Never mind that he’s never hurt anyone, he’s just a fucking _wolf_ \- what does it matter?” His voice was hard but brittle, his eyes glazed with tears he wouldn’t let himself shed. Allison’s heart ached for him.

“It matters to _us_ ,” her dad told him, voice gentle, but unyielding. “ _He_ matters to us.” He held Jackson’s gaze unwaveringly until Jackson looked away, swallowing. “We’ll get him back.”

 _Dead or alive_ , Allison didn’t say out loud, that queasy roiling in her stomach resurfacing at the thought. She didn’t know what she’d do if she got there tomorrow only to find they were too late. Didn’t know how she’d ever break it to Scott’s pack, or how she’d ever get over it herself - there was a part of her that had never really stopped loving him.

“So,” Lydia offered, aiming for bright, and winding up sounding more frayed and desperate for distraction than anything. “How’s your vacation been, aside from the questionable company?”

Allison barked out a laugh, just this side of hysterical. _That_ was supposed to be an ice-breaker? “Wonderful. Between flirting with one of the sociopaths that kidnapped my ex-boyfriend and shooting arrows into some newly bitten idiot that lost control of his instincts, my life’s been just peachy, Lydia, thanks for asking.”

Lydia winced, stricken. “God, I’m sorry, Allison. I never thought.”

Allison leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, breathing carefully as the memory of her first hunt came back to haunt her. She’d never forget the white-eyed terror in that wolf’s face as he lay panting on the forest floor, trying in vain to get away from them. From her.

“You want to talk about it?” her father asked gently.

Allison shook her head minutely. “No, but it was -” Sanctioned? By a group of murderers with all the moral compass of Ted Bundy? “It was justified,” she said finally, swallowing thickly, and opened her eyes, hoping they’d believe her. “He’d just ripped his brother’s guts out. You’d have done the same.” She hoped.

Her father nodded. “I would.” There was quiet comfort in the matter of fact tone of his voice, and she let out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding, relieved.

Silence fell, tense and laden with anticipation. Stiles broke it with a heavy sigh and moved to pace nervously before the window, a dozen different thoughts flashing on his face. “Do we at least know how they found us? I know we’ve got more important things to worry about right now, but I’ve been wracking my brains and I just can’t figure out how they knew to be in that town, on that day…”

Allison winced and looked down at her lap, twisting her hands. “They have branches in a lot of places - Northern Oregon’s one of them. They found that girl by pure chance…”

Jackson looked at her sharply. “But?”

Allison met Lydia’s eyes, sad and apologetic, watching the other girl swallow as it began to dawn on her what had happened. “They had a bunch of people in Beacon Hills under surveillance after the pack up and disappeared - Scott’s mom, Stiles’ dad, and -”

“Lydia,” Jackson breathed.

Lydia sucked in a tremulous breath, wide-eyed. “They followed me?”

Allison gave a brief nod. “They tailed you for most of the way, but -”

“But I made a pit stop in that little town before I got to the cabin. I guess I lost more than my lipgloss there…”

“They were told to stay there for a couple of days and search the surrounding area.” She gave a bitter little laugh. “What are the odds Scott would happen to go there just as they were about to leave?”

Jackson made a strangled sound then, and Allison looked up, surprised to see him glaring at Lydia, accusation clear in his eyes.

“Jackson…” Lydia said pleadingly, tears standing in her eyes.

“Don’t,” Jackson forced out, gritting his teeth as if to ward off his rising temper. “Just don’t, Lyd. I don’t want to hear it.”

Stiles moved to stand by Lydia’s side, defensive, metaphorical hackles raised. “Leave her be - this isn’t her fault.”

“The hell it isn’t,” Jackson spat.

Stiles’ eyes flashed bronze, steady and hard, looking at Jackson in reproach. Jackson swallowed and looked away. Stiles took Lydia’s hand in his, squeezing. “It’s no-one’s damn fault but that pack of psychopaths.”

“It’s no good fighting amongst ourselves,” Derek said sternly, face troubled but determined as he looked at his pack steadily. “We might be in for a pretty big fight tomorrow, so you better save all that anger for then.”

Jackson snarled as Derek’s hand touched  his shoulder, shrinking back. He spared them all a baleful glare and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Allison watched as Stiles rubbed a comforting hand down Lydia’s forearm. “Don’t take it personally - he’s just worried.”

“I know,” she said quietly, trying to hide her hurt, but Allison had never seen her look so wounded.

Stiles turned to Allison then, forcing a tight smile. “Don’t mind us - our little family’s been kind of on edge for a while now.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she told him. A yawn escaped her and she covered her mouth, embarrassed. God, but she was tired.

Stiles smiled ruefully. “I guess we should go now. You’re going to need your rest.”

“Never mind Allison,” Lydia said, “I’m shattered.”

Allison grinned, teasing. “Yeah, you look it. Go get your beauty sleep.”

“Bitch,” Lydia said, but she was smiling faintly, shaking her head, already moving to go. She turned back to look at Allison, hand on the door handle, brow creased in a frown. She opened her mouth as if to speak, then thought better of it and gave a little wave instead. “’Night.”

“Yeah, ‘night, Allison,” Stiles said over his shoulder, suddenly sounding as weary as she’d ever heard him.

“Goodnight,” Allison murmured as they trickled slowly out the door, shutting it quietly behind them, leaving only her father. She stretched out in her chair, popping all her joints, groaning in relief. She got up slowly and shuffled, zombie-like, to the bed, flinging herself down face first. Suddenly her eyes felt like lead.

She heard her dad chuckle somewhere to her right. Seconds later a warm blanket was laid on top of her and a soft kiss was pressed into her hair. “Get a good night’s rest, baby. Tomorrow’s a big day.”

Allison snorted into her pillow at the understatement. The thought of tomorrow - of what she might find - made her stomach roil in apprehension. Her exhaustion outweighed her worry, and she found herself pulled down into sleep. She dreamed of soft brown eyes, and watching on, helpless and heartbroken, as the light faded from them.

***

Caleb came for her the next night, and Allison hopped into the truck with a wide grin that she hoped didn’t look manic, her stomach churning in apprehension. She fingered the pendant around her neck nervously.

“Excited?” Caleb asked, apparently taking her smile at face value.

“Can’t wait,” she told him.

Caleb smiled at her and started up the truck. Even driving, he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. It wasn’t something she was above exploiting. She glanced down, bashful, only wishing she could blush on command. “So,” she said, light and innocent. “What’s so special about this compound? You guys all act  like it’s a big deal to get an invite…”

“It means we trust you, that’s all,” he said.

“You mean you didn’t before?” Allison exclaimed, laughing.

“ _I_ did,” he said, “but everyone has to be initiated before we let them into the inner sanctum, so to speak.”

Allison nodded. “My first kill?”

Caleb bobbed his head in the affirmative. “We have to be sure where an initiate’s loyalties lie first. I knew you were a natural huntress the moment I laid eyes on you - it’s my mom that needed a little more persuasion.”

“And is she?”

“Hmm?”

“Persuaded?”

A slow, wide smile split Caleb’s face, and there was a heat in his eyes that made Allison shift uncomfortably in her seat. “Are you kidding? With that shot you pulled off up near the lake? I’ve seen guys that have been hunting for years that _wish_ they could be half as cool and collected as you were.”

Allison ducked her head, hoping he took it for embarrassment at the praise. In reality, she felt plain sick when she remembered the moment her arrow had met its mark, and the stark terror she’d felt after; that her mask of icy cool would slip and they would see her for who she truly was.

“Anyway,” Caleb said, interrupting her thoughts. “Tonight we’ll show you around the compound, let you see how things work. This is when your real training begins.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” Allison said. She turned to look out the window, watching as the town gave way to suburb, and suburb to farmland. The GPS tracker was a tiny, comforting presence in the lining of her hiking boots, a silent reminder that help was just around the corner if she needed it. All she had to do right now was play her part. She turned to Caleb and offered him a sweet, innocent smile.

***

The compound turned out to be a very large, apparently neglected, and totally unassuming farmhouse in Northern California. It was well off the beaten path, surrounded by woodland on one side and a mountain range on the other. Any cultivated land the property had once had had long reverted to wilderness. It was isolated, was what it was.

It was considerably more well maintained inside, and the people there moved about them with purpose as Caleb led her around, showing her each room and its intended purpose. There was a supply room full of weapons and restraints; a greenhouse where they grew over fifty varieties of wolfsbane, each with slightly differing properties from the last; a practice room with targets on the walls and padded mats on the floors; an indoor kennel for the few tracking dogs with the courage to pursue werewolves, and most chilling of all, the interrogation room.

She watched as a hunter wove stems of wolfsbane around the stand in the centre of the room, checking the straps as he went, and tried not to consider why there was a drain in  the concrete floor and tiling on the walls. Another hunter entered the room, whip in hand, slapping it lightly against his leg with a smile of anticipation on his face, and she shuddered, chilled to the bone.

“What’s the point of an interrogation room if there’s no-one to interrogate?” she asked lightly, impressed by her own ability to keep the sickened waver out of her voice.

“Caleb,” a female voice said chidingly, and Allison turned to see Hazel Duval leaning in the doorway, tutting at her brother. “Haven’t you shown our guest the basement?”

Caleb scoffed. “I hadn’t got that far yet.”

“Allow me,” Hazel purred, moving to take Allison in hand as she ushered her out of the room.

Allison trotted along behind her obediently as Hazel led her to the back of the property and down a set of stairs, stopping in front of a door. Cells, Allison thought, swallowing.

“There’s only one live wolf at the moment,” Hazel said, setting Allison’s heart to pounding in her chest. “He can be a handful, so I’ll show you round an empty cell to begin with, let you get a feel for our methods.”

Hazel let the door swing open to reveal a sparse, dark, windowless room, equipped with nothing more than a long, heavy chain bolted to the wall. “We normally twine wolfsbane into the chain to keep them from fucking with it, but if they do manage to break it, there’s always the door.” She tapped it. “Reinforced steel.”

Allison blinked, staring at the room in silence, mind awhirl. Hazel looked at her consideringly. “Listen, Ali, we haven’t been completely honest with you.”

“Oh?”

“We wanted to be sure about you first, given your background and all. The pup we’ve got in that room back there is part of the Hale pack. I think you knew him. Is that going to be a problem?” There was a hardness behind her eyes that told Allison it better not be.

Allison lifted her head high, haughty, and raised a brow. “The Hale pack that got my aunt killed, you mean? No, it won’t be a problem.”

Hazel smiled slowly, nodding once. “Oh, I think you’ll get by just fine, Ali. And here I was worried you wouldn’t be able to stomach one of our little sessions!”

Half an hour later, Allison stood in the ‘interrogation’ room, waiting for them to bring Scott out, dreading what it would mean for him when they did.

When they did usher him into the room, quiet and subdued, she didn’t even realise what was happening until the crowd parted before her, revealing two guards leading a dark haired figure on a chain.

‘That’s not Scott,’ she thought, disbelieving, blinking in shock as she took in the skin and bone frame of the silent, naked boy they led to the stand. Though Scott had barely had an ounce of fat to lose on his body, so it shouldn’t surprise her, really, that two weeks of deprivation had pared him down to whipcord leanness.

Then all of a sudden the boy stopped in his tracks, and a low, warning growl echoed from the tiled room. He raised his head, and Allison took one look at his face and had to swallow down a sob. His eyes were golden; his thin face taking on that furred, ridged cast of lupine features, but it was the look in his eyes that floored her: utterly wild, and completely inhuman. He looked like a cornered animal.

He fought them like one as they struggled to force him into what she realised, with a sick lurch, was a whipping stand; roaring in mindless fury, clawing at anything within striking distance. They managed it eventually. His head thrashed around, and for a moment Allison could have sworn he was looking right at her, before he turned away, bellowing his fury once more.

Hazel nudged her hip, and Allison turned to see her giving her a reassuring smile. “This is always hard to watch for beginners,” she said sympathetically. “Just bear in mind that it’s necessary. If we want to eradicate the Hale pack, this is what we have to do.”

Allison nodded dumbly, unable to speak as she watched a man raise his arm and bring his whip down on Scott’s naked back with a thunderous ‘crack.’ She listened to him roaring in pain, and tried to tell herself he’d heal in a minute; that there was nothing she could do. She watched blood drip slowly to the ground, and prayed that Jackson wasn’t listening; that Derek had had the sense to take him away before he could hear this.

Every now and then they paused to ask him where his pack was, but it ought to be obvious to anyone with a brain, Allison thought, biting back her anger, that Scott wasn’t in there right now. They were torturing a beast, for no other reason she could discern than pure sadism.

Finally, the torturer let his tired arm fall, dropping his whip to the ground. He looked at Hazel and shrugged. Scott fell forward in his restraints, limp and panting.

Beside her, Hazel sighed, disappointed.

“How often does this happen?” Allison asked, and she couldn’t for the life of her keep the tremor out of her voice. “You’ve had him for nearly two weeks now, and he hasn’t told you anything. What’s the point of this?” She hoped Hazel didn’t hear the accusation in it.

“I know, Ali,” Hazel admitted with a sigh, surprising Allison. “My mom told me once that you could push them so far they became pure beast, but I didn’t believe her. Fuck, this is pointless. It’s never going to tell us anything when it’s like _this_.”

For a minute, Allison actually thought she might have bought Scott a reprieve, before Hazel continued. “You’re right, Ali - I might as well give up. I’ll have it executed tomorrow. Still, it’s been great training for the inductees, don’t you think?”

Allison blinked in shock, doing her best to hide her horror. The wolf roused from his agonised stupor as four men took him down from the restraints, and Hazel moved away to yell instructions at them, leaving Allison alone to process the fact that she’d just signed Scott’s death warrant.

***

Allison was still in a daze, frantically running through her options, when a commotion in the hallway drew her attention. She caught a bald hunter’s attention. “What’s going on?” she asked, trying not to stare at the scabbed claw marks on his face. She hoped to hell Scott had put them there.

The hunter gave her a friendly smile. “Hi. Allison, right? Kate’s niece?”

“That’s me,” Allison replied, brow raised, still waiting for an answer.

“Oh, Diana Duval’s back, that’s all. She’ll probably be wanting a progress report, so naturally some of the guys are shitting their pants.”

“Why?”

The hunter snorted. “We broke that puppy in all the wrong ways - it can’t tell us _shit_ now. Ms. Duval _really_ wanted to take down that Hale pack.”

“You’re not worried?”

The hunter shrugged, careless. “They’ll show their faces eventually. We off their pup, leave him out where they can find him, that’s an instant vendetta. They’ll come to us - I’d put money on it. Hazel’s just being stubborn about it.”

“What was that Tommy?” Hazel called, moving towards them purposefully, looking at him in suspicion.

Tommy flinched, turning to Hazel with a sour look. “Nothing,” he muttered.

“Better be,” Hazel said imperiously, then turned to Allison, offering her a smile. “Come with me, Ali. My mom wants to speak to you.”

Allison found herself dragged around by the hand like a child, till they came to a room Caleb hadn’t bothered showing her: a parlour. The room was full of hunters, and even more were filing in, offering their respects to the matriarch as if she were Don Corleone.

Diana was seated primly on an old leather armchair, as regal as a lioness surveying her pride. She caught sight of Allison and smiled slowly, and it did nothing to dispel the image. She stood, gesturing Allison to come closer. “Allison! How lovely to see you!”

Allison went to her, hoping her nerves didn’t show. “You too, Ms. Duval. I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Yes, you’ve been kept busy, haven’t you dear? I’m afraid I’m too old to take much of an active hand in the day to day training, but I’ve had Hazel and Caleb keep me posted on your progress, and I must say, I’m impressed.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Oh, stop that - it’s Diana to you!” Her grin widened, and she turned to take in the room at large. “Is everyone here?” A murmur of assent was her answer, and she continued. “In that case, I’d like to introduce our newest recruit, Allison Argent.”

A whoop of congratulations greeted Allison as Diana stood and turned her to face the gathered crowd. She gave them a bashful grin; giving them the appearance that she was happily overwhelmed. “I don’t know what to say,” she started. “Thanks, I guess,” she said, making herself laugh. “I’ll do my best to do what’s right.”

“Hear, hear!” someone called, and Allison fixed a grin on her face, thinking that if there was any justice in the world, ‘doing what was right’ ought to end in a lot of pain and suffering for every one of the monsters in this room.

Caleb appeared beside her, startling her, and slung an arm around her waist. “I think this calls for a celebration!” he said, and raised a beer in the air. “To Allison!”

“To Allison!” The room echoed as they toasted her. She finally saw the trestle table on the far side of the room, groaning under the weight of the liquor and beer set on top of it, and a faint hope began to rise inside her as an idea sprang into her mind.

“So,” she said to Caleb, letting herself lean into his side, “just exactly how drunk do you all plan on getting?”

***

 The guard posted at Scott’s cell was actually asleep when she got there, snoring softly. She poked him on the shoulder. “Hey.”

The man yelped as he fell off the wooden crate he’d been sleeping on. “Shit!” he cursed, then took a good look at who’d woken him. “Miss Argent! Sorry about that, I must have dozed off.”

She offered him a sympathetic grin. “No big deal.” She looked at him as he fidgeted under her gaze, considering her words. “It must suck to be stuck down here while everyone’s partying upstairs. It’s not like anything even happens down here, right?”

“Exactly!” he said emphatically, glad to have found someone that understood. He shrugged, letting out a dejected sigh. “We drew straws. Someone’s got to do it, and I came up short.”

Allison leaned in closer, conspiratorial. “How’d you like it if I relieved you for a few hours?”

“Damn, miss, I couldn’t do that. It’s _your_ party.”

“Between you and me,” she said, leaning closer, “I’m not much of a partier. I’d rather be doing something useful.”

“If you’re sure..?” the guard said, obviously caught between desire and duty. It was clear which way he was wavering towards.

“Totally,” she told him, already moving to sit on the crate.

The guard darted a look upwards, listening to the raucous sounds coming from upstairs. He grinned. “I really owe you one, Miss -”

“Please, call me Allison.”

“I owe you one, Allison.” He pointed to a button on the wall. “That’s the panic button. If your puppy gives you any trouble you slap that and we’ll come running.”

“Is that likely?” she asked with a raised brow.

“Fuck no. There’s no way it’s getting past that door. Anyway,” he said, hand outstretched to pass her a cattle prod, “take this. Just in case.”

Allison eyed the thing in distaste, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Oh, that’s okay - I carry one of these.” She pulled out her taser from its little holster at her waist, waving it for him to see. “Have a good time.”

“I will. Thanks again.” With that, the guard handed her a set of keys and disappeared down the hallway.

Allison waited a few beats, listening for the sound of his footsteps on the stairs, then gave a deep sigh of relief. She quickly found the pants and hoodie she’d hidden in a dark corner, and bundled them in the crook of her arm. She took a deep breath, bracing herself, before putting the key in the latch.

She opened the door slowly; the low growl coming from inside making the hairs of the back of her neck stand up. The smell, musty and acrid, was enough to give her pause. She moved inside cautiously, and gasped when she caught sight of the crouching, bloodied figure staring at her from the corner with baleful golden eyes. “Scott…”

He lunged.

Before she knew what was happening she was on her back, with pointed claws digging into her shoulders and a set of razor sharp teeth inches from her face. Eyes that looked like molten gold stared down at her, slitted and furious.

“Scott! Scott, please! I’m here to help!” she cried, prying ineffectually at the hands pinning her. She should have thought of this; should have realised he wasn’t himself right now. She swallowed, knowing she might die for that mistake. “Scott, I’m so sorry.” Sorry she was too late.

The golden eyes looking down at her widened, seeming almost confused. The grip on her shoulders relaxed infinitesimally, and he sniffed, then tilted his head, listening. Her heartbeat, she realised. He was listening to her heartbeat.

“…Allison?” His voice was small, unused; like he’d forgotten how to form words.

Allison sobbed with relief. “Yes. It’s me, Scott. I’m getting you out of here.”

It seemed like he didn’t know what to make of that - he stared at her, dazed, shaking his head like it might dispel the vision of her. His teeth and claws retracted as he backed off, coming to rest on his haunches. Gold eyes looked at her as if they couldn’t believe what they were seeing.

She retrieved the set of keys from her pocket with fumbling, shaking fingers and gestured to his neck, unable to even look at the collar without feeling nausea churning in the pit of her stomach. "Let's get that off you."

He bent his head to let her reach, posture stiff and wary. When it was free of his neck, and Scott stood rubbing at the raw, bruised flesh beneath, she looked down at the blood-encrusted bit of metal in her hands and wondered just what in the hell was missing in these people's souls, that they could treat another living thing this way. That they could look at this boy - this sweet, kindhearted boy - and see something that didn't deserve to be treated as well as they did their own dogs. 

Swallowing down her sudden rage, she let the collar fall to the dirty floor. She had to be sharp if she was going to get them both out of here. She couldn't let her emotions get the best of her. She picked up the pile of clothes she’d dropped when Scott had tackled her and handed them to him. “Get dressed.”

He ran his fingers over the fabric, staring blankly at the hoodie for a moment, as if he didn’t know what to do with it. He shook his head after a moment, brows drawn down in consternation, and took a deep, shuddering breath, pulling himself together. He turned and began to pull the clothes on.

Allison looked at the half-healed lines criss-crossing his back and swallowed. “If things go to plan, my dad will be waiting somewhere on the roadside for us. All we have to do is get there. Derek, Stiles and Jackson will be there for backup -”

Scott turned sharply at the mention of Jackson’s name; eyes filled with such a heartfelt longing that it took Allison’s breath away. She offered him a tiny smile, aiming for reassurance. “He’s waiting for you. Let’s get you back to him, huh?”

Scott nodded faintly and moved towards her cautiously, watching her with something wild lurking in his eyes. Reacting instinctively even now, she realised with a sick twist in her belly. He was barely hanging on, and she’d better get him the hell out of here in a hurry.

They moved silently through the hallways, hoods up to obscure their faces. Music and loud, drunken singing echoed in the house. No-one stopped them.

When they got outside Allison paused to lift her pendant, talking into it as clearly as she could. “We’re out. We’re making our way to the road now. Be ready.” She only hoped to hell the damn thing was still working. They were utterly screwed otherwise.

Scott was a silent presence at her side as she ran; the only sound the wild thumping of her own heart. It wasn’t that far now, and her sense of relief was something tangible; a giddy fluttering in her belly.

Then the bay of a hound split the air, and Allison’s stomach dropped. Scott stilled, and gave a low, rumbling growl. Allison risked a tentative hand on his shoulder. He turned to her with narrowed eyes in a lupine face, but he stopped, falling silent. “We have to go,” she said softly, still wary. He nodded, features melting back to something more human.

They ran, as fast as Allison’s feet would carry her. There was no point trying to lose them, so they took the most direct path they could. They crossed a stream and Allison cursed as she clambered up the rock face on the other side, losing a shoe in the process. “Well damn. There went my GPS.” There wasn’t time to look for it.

They carried on. She thought she heard something, and in her distraction caught her bare foot on an exposed tree root, stumbling. She got up and bit back a cry as she tried to put her weight on it. Sprained. Shit.

Scott looked at her, indecisive and wary, before tentatively moving beside her and putting her arm over his shoulder, letting her lean her weight on him. He was trembling against her, hating her touch. It broke her heart, but they hadn’t any choice. She swallowed. “Let’s go.”

They didn’t make it far. They were in a tiny clearing when a dozen flashlights fixed on them from the trees, blinding them. They were surrounded.

“Well, boys, it looks like we might have been a little early in welcoming Allison into the family,” Diana Duval said sadly as she stepped forward, shotgun in hand.

As Allison’s eyes adjusted to the dazzling light, she saw Caleb looking at her, betrayal in his eyes. “I trusted you.”

“We should have known, really,” Hazel said, shaking her head at Allison. “There’s something wrong with that bloodline. Her father’s a sympathiser and her aunt lay with animals. She’s a hell of an actress though, I’ll give her that.”

Allison didn’t bother to argue, knowing there would be no rationalising with these people. Beside her, Scott thrummed with barely leashed power, his growl a thing so low and deep it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. This could get messy.

“It’s a shame to lose such a promising trainee,” Diana said, something calculating glinting in her eyes, “but this does present us with an unforeseen opportunity.”

Caleb looked at his mother in irritation, still visibly upset. “Spit it out, mama.”

 Diana tutted at her son. “Now Caleb, I know you were close to the girl, but you of all people know there’s no redeeming what she has done.” At Caleb’s lowered head, she continued. “She has to die, of course. She knows too much to let her walk free. If we play it right, we can kill two birds with one stone.” She looked to the crowd of gathered hunters. “Imagine her father’s reaction if his precious little girl were to die at the teeth of a wolf. Might bring him a little more on side, don’t you think?”

The hunters seemed to agree. Allison sucked in a breath, wide-eyed. Beside her, Scott cocked his head, listening. His features changed, his wolf taking over. A slow, savage grin split his face.

Diana Duval continued on, unmindful. “Well, I think we ought to -” There came blur of movement from behind her; a flash of claws, and then there was a line of red across the huntress’ throat. She spluttered and gasped, gurgling wetly as she fell to her knees, revealing the huge, inhuman form behind her, eyes glowing red in the dark. Derek howled.

Madness followed. Allison hit the dirt, scrambling out of the way. Unarmed and injured, she’d only be a hindrance. The hunters, caught unawares, turned their weapons on the blurring shape in the dark that circled them, darting in to snap and then darting off again. They’d forgotten about the wolf in the inner circle.

Scott barely made a sound as he leaped at Hazel, teeth bared and claws outstretched. Hazel turned too late, cursing and raising her gun, and met a set of claws. Hazel’s sudden silence and an arc of blood, dark and oily looking in the moonlight, told Allison all that she needed to know.

Senses dulled by alcohol, the hunters’ arrows weren’t quick enough to meet their mark as the two wolves moved among them with inhuman speed; almost quicker than the eye could follow. One by one they fell, savaged and bloodied. Caleb stood to one side, out of the wolves’ reach, and slowly raised his arm, gun in hand as he carefully took aim.

“No!” Allison cried, and threw herself at him, tackling him to the ground. He shoved her away, cursing, and raised the butt of the gun in the air above her head. Allison thought fast, quickly pulling her taser from its holster and shocking him before he could pistol whip her. Her ankle was killing her now, but she took perverse glee in the way he screamed and writhed around on the ground.

She looked up again and had to fight down a wave of nausea. There wasn’t one of them left. Derek stood panting in the centre of it all, shirtless and bathed in blood. He looked human, but his eyes were wild and red; his fingers curling and uncurling as if itching for another target. Scott was crouched over a hunter - the bald one - tearing at his flesh with something akin to desperation. The man was long dead, but Scott didn’t seem to notice.

Derek looked at Scott with something like concern, until Caleb’s whining caught his attention. He moved forward slowly, tilting his head consideringly, looking like a cat stalking a mouse.

She didn’t know why she felt compelled to come between them - she hadn’t have much sympathy for the pathetic creature writhing on the ground - but she stepped forward anyway, girding her loins. Derek frowned, still predatory; still not quite human; still slinking towards her with hungry eyes.

“Back off, Hale,” a gruff voice said from the woods, flashlight in hand.

“Dad!”

Her father smiled, face awash with relief, before he laid eyes on the carnage Derek and Scott had left. “What the hell..?”

The red faded from Derek’s eyes, and he stood staring at them, seeming disoriented. Then he turned to Scott and his eyes sharpened with concern. Scott was standing still in the midst of it all, rocking faintly in place, terrifyingly blank-eyed. “You alright?” Derek asked, voice surprisingly gentle.

Of course he wasn’t, Allison thought harshly. Anyone with a set of eyes could see that he was about as far from alright as could be.

A loud crash nearby startled them all, and her dad turned towards the noise, shotgun raised.

Jackson and Stiles hurtled out of the undergrowth, panting. “Are we too late..? What did we miss?” Stiles said, wide-eyed, before he laid eyes on the bodies. “Holy shit.”

Allison snorted out a half hysterical laugh, afraid she’d never be able to stop. _Holy shit_ was right. There’d be nightmares for some time to come, she’d wager.

But if the sight of all those torn, ruined bodies was enough to sear itself onto her brain for all eternity, the blessed sight of Scott wrapped protectively in Jackson’s arms was a balm to it.

She watched them hold each other so tight it seemed they wanted to disappear into each other, fierce and loving and so desperate that it hurt to watch, and she knew that no matter the cost, it was worth it.

She looked at her father and nodded, conscience maybe clearer than it ought to be. He looked troubled, but shook his head slightly. He’d go to bat for them, even after this, but that didn’t mean this night was over. She looked at the bodies, frowning. They still had a lot to do tonight.


	10. Derek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for gore, arson and mentions of torture.

Derek looked at Stiles, eyebrow raised. “You gonna blow chunks?”

Stiles shook his head, the cold sweat beading his brow flying with the movement. “I’m fine,” he said quietly.

Derek snorted. “Sure.”

“I’m not gonna throw up again, I swear,” Stiles said, a little more fire entering his subdued voice. “Can we please just get on with it?”

Derek nodded. “On three. One, two, three.” With that, they swung another savaged corpse onto the flatbed of the truck they’d managed to drive out to the clearing. One more to go, but it was a bad one. It had been a bald, stocky guy once, but anything more than that was hard to make out. Scott had torn his flesh to ribbons. Derek glared down at the corpse as if he could punish it further, wondering what this one had done to Scott to make him go utterly berserk like that.

Stiles struggled not to retch as he gathered up the feet of the last body. “It’s a slab of meat, Stiles,” Derek could hear him muttering to himself under his breath. “It’s…road kill. Not a person. Not a person that your best friend sliced to itty bitty pieces…”

Derek didn’t say anything, just swung the body up in silence, listening to it land on top of all the others with a meaty ‘thunk.’ He took pity on Stiles then. “Go get Scott and Jackson. We have to head back to the compound now.”

Relief made Stiles’ stiffened shoulders sag, and he nodded, making his way to the fallen tree that Scott and Jackson currently occupied, twined together so tight that Derek feared it might take a damn crowbar to pry them apart. Derek turned back to the gruesome pile of bodies heaped on the flatbed and took to attempting to secure them and cover the whole damn thing with a tarp.

When he was done he wiped his hands on his stained jeans and hopped in the cab. Stiles was already waiting in the passenger seat. He looked in the mirror and saw Scott and Jackson huddled together in the back, Jackson wrapped so tightly around his mate it was a wonder he could breathe. Derek couldn’t think of what to say, so he just swallowed down the lump in his throat and started up the truck.

Chris Argent was waiting for them at the house, with about a half dozen hunters lined up in a neat little row on the front lawn, bound hand and foot. They looked at the werewolves approaching them with stark terror in their eyes, mouths moving uselessly against the gags tied around their faces.

Scott gave a low rumble at the sight of them, but Jackson squeezed him closer, mouthing something too soft to hear into his ear, and he stopped. The wariness on his face as he sidestepped them made Derek want to break something.

He moved to stand with Chris Argent. “Well?” he asked, not letting his anxiousness enter his voice.

Argent looked him up and down, and Derek was suddenly very conscious of the blood drying on his skin. He didn’t squirm under the hunter’s measuring gaze, but only through sheer force of will.

Argent relented eventually. “There’s clear admission of intention to murder a human and cruel and unusual punishment of an unblooded wolf on the recordings Allison got for us. That would get us a conviction, and more than likely an execution order…”

“But?”

Argent raised a brow at him, then glanced across at Scott, who looked like Carrie on Prom night, drenched head to toe in blood. “You massacred them. Under the circumstances, it’s understandable, and I’m pretty sure they’ll grant you two leniency this time, but it doesn’t look good. They’ll be keeping a very close eye on your pack from now on. If any of you so much as puts a scratch on a human from this day forward, you can pretty much guarantee a lynch mob will be at your doorstep for it.”

Derek looked over at Scott, pacing restlessly, head turning at every noise he heard, eyes blazing gold in the dark, and something in him stood up and took notice, recognising the danger in that mindset. It might be a while before that one didn’t jump at shadows. “I’ll take care of him. You won’t have to worry about that.”

Argent smiled tightly. “I’ll do what I can - I won’t say I don’t have a soft spot for him. Just keep him on a short leash for the time being.”

Derek nodded.

Argent gave him a sharp, measuring look. “You know, at least Scott has the excuse of extreme trauma. He lost control. I don’t think anyone would blame him for it. But you…” He looked at Derek, not with judgement but with calculation. “You knew exactly what you were doing back there, didn’t you?”

Derek shrugged, noncommittal. “I told you what would happen if they hurt me or mine. What would you do, if it had been Allison back there?”

Argent gave a brief, cold smile. “Fair enough. See that it doesn’t happen again, Hale.”

Derek snorted. “I shouldn’t think I’d need to, unless your kind gets it into their heads to kidnap and torture one of my kids again.”

Argent was spared a reply when Allison came limping out of the house, stopping on the porch hesitantly. “Dad, I think you better come look at this…”

“What is it?” Argent asked, moving closer.

“Well, I was taking photos of all the rooms like you said, when I saw the computer in the office. Some idiot had the administrator password taped to the desktop, so I took a look inside.”

“And?” Stiles asked.

“And it seems they kept pretty detailed records.” Her face blanched at the mention of it. “Some of the files are encrypted, but the ones that aren’t…”

The Argents and Stiles went inside the house to go look, and Derek was about to follow when he noticed Jackson try to lead Scott in by the hand, only to find his boyfriend was suddenly an immovable object, feet rooted firmly in place.

“Come on, babe,” Jackson murmured softly, as if gentling a wild animal. “We’ve got to get you cleaned up a bit before we go home anyway.”

“I’m not going in there,” Scott said quietly, only the faintest quiver in his voice giving away his fear.

Jackson squeezed his hand, sympathetic. “Look, I know the last thing you want is to go back inside that hellhole, but we can’t get you back home looking like that, the cops will stop us…”

Scott looked at him flatly, unmoved.

Before Jackson could work up another well-meaning argument, Derek put a hand on his arm. ‘Don’t force it,’ he said silently with nothing more than a shake of the head. “It’s okay,” he said out loud, “someone has to stay and make sure these dumb assholes don’t try to get away.” He indicated the row of bound hunters behind them.

Jackson nodded, sighing, looking back at Scott with concern plain on his face. “Alright. Try not to take too long, okay?”

He must have been anxious to get Scott home. Hell, Derek could think of little more appealing right now than getting home, his pack safe and sound, and sinking into a nice warm tub of water. He nodded at Jackson.

He followed his nose to a small room in the back of the building. They were all crowded round a computer screen, faces lit with its glow, expressions pinched and scowling with revulsion. Derek soon understood why when he caught sight of the image displayed on the screen. It had been a kid once, maybe sixteen, though whether werewolf or human he couldn’t tell. She was mutilated almost beyond recognition, clearly imitating a savage animal attack. Three hunters stood around the body with shotguns in hand, grinning broadly like they were displaying a hunting trophy.

“They circulated these on a mailing list,” Stiles said in a small, shaky voice, looking back at Derek like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Like this kind of cruelty ought to be beyond human capability. “This one was human. The text says, ‘One less race traitor.’ They sent these to _brag_.”

He clicked again. A man this time; a wolf; frail and frightened. He was cowering in a filthy cell, bruised from head to toe - impressive, given his healing capabilities - and surrounded by the muzzles of shotguns. In the next file there was a hole in the middle of his forehead, leaking black blood.

On and on the horror (‘ _evidence_ ,’ he told himself) continued, until Argent laid a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “Come on, Allison. That’s enough.” It was a bit late for that now, Derek thought. He didn’t voice his opinion.

Stiles clicked again, and Allison’s answer stuck in her throat, coming out as a sickened moan. “Oh, God,” Stiles said, pushing his chair away from the desk as if the distance would erase the image from his thoughts. “Oh, Jesus.”

Scott’s file. Derek drew in a bracing breath and reached over to take the mouse, clicking through each of the images determinedly. Sad, scared brown eyes gave way to wild golden ones the further he went; a healthy body to something lean and spare. The marks on him varied, from bruises to weals to great bloody slashes, but there wasn’t a single shot where they weren’t present. They spoke about slicing strips of skin from his back in clinical, detached words, remarking on how the flesh grew back. How the ‘bathtub treatment’ had seemed promising, until ‘it’ snapped. Derek eyed the captive hunters on the lawn outside from the window, and wondered if Chris Argent wouldn’t maybe let him give them the kind of death they deserved.

Argent laid a hand on his arm and shook his head. He seemed paler than usual. “No. This is more than enough for the council. You don’t need to take this into your own hands.”

Derek’s nostrils flared as he forced deep, calming breaths into his lungs. He closed the browser and turned to Stiles. “Can you copy all this or should we just take the damn computer?”

Stiles just stared at him open mouthed for a minute, before shaking himself. “Take it, I guess. I’m not an expert - you should get someone who knows what they’re doing to go over it. Why? What are you planning to do?”

Derek smiled, cold and vengeful. “Burn this place to the ground.”

“Hey, I want a little payback as much as anyone right now, but is that really necessary?” Stiles asked, wide eyed.

“It’s a sound idea,” Chris Argent said grudgingly. “We have a lot of bodies - we have to do something with them. Burning gets rid of the physical evidence, at least. It’s a common solution, when we have to dispose of entire packs.”

Derek gave him a sharp glare, and Argent winced, realising what that had sounded like. “Dead bodies,” he amended. “If we’re going to do this, I need to contact the council first - they’ll need to run interference with the local cops. This place is isolated, but there’s still a chance some passerby might see the smoke.”

Derek nodded. “Do that. Stiles, you’re with me. We’re looking for gasoline.”

Stiles gulped. “Yay.”

They found plenty of gas cans in the dilapidated old garage outside. Chris Argent was just finishing packing the computer into the trunk of his car, phone glued to his ear, when they returned. Allison emerged from the house with a basin of soapy water and a couple of washcloths, walking slowly to compensate for the unevenness of her limping gait. She went to pass one to Scott, a reassuring smile on her face, and Derek didn’t miss the way he flinched back from her, or the hurt that flashed across her face, quickly hidden. Jackson moved between them before it could become awkward, taking the basin from Allison gratefully. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” he murmured to his mate.

Chris Argent cleared his throat behind him, and Derek turned to face him. “Well?”

“There’s an emergency team on its way, though the council neglected to mention what was so important that we couldn’t have them when we really needed them,” Argent said sardonically. “They’ll be there by the time the fire gets going. Now all we need to do is get all those bodies inside…”

Derek snorted, looking at the sheer size of the tarp covered mound on the flatbed. “Easier said than done.”

“You should put them in the parlour,” Allison said, suddenly appearing beside her father. At the twin questioning looks aimed her way, she elaborated. “They were drinking in there. It’s full of liquor bottles. They’d burn quicker there, I think, and if someone does come out to investigate, it might throw their scent off the arson.”

Chris Argent floundered for a moment, as if caught out at his sweet little girl’s cold practicality. “That should work,” he managed eventually, throat working as he tried to swallow that bitter little pill down.

Derek just smiled, impressed. “Good thinking.”

It took a while to carry all the bodies inside, and even longer to make sure the entire house was liberally doused with accelerant, but eventually it was done, and Derek stood on the front lawn, blinking a little at the sting in his nostrils. Stiles coughed quietly beside him, proffering a half filled glass bottle with a rag pushed down into it.

To his other side, Scott stood, dressed in an old t-shirt and jeans Derek had had stashed in his car, staring fixedly at the building, as if he were already willing it to burn. He was decidedly less bloody, but Derek’s clothes swamped his thin frame, making him look impossibly young and painfully vulnerable. “You okay?” Derek asked gently.

Scott tipped his chin up, eyes fiery and unrelentingly golden. “I’m fine.” Maybe he even believed it himself.

Derek only shrugged, letting the matter drop, but Scott was human born, and barely more than a child besides. If he was fine, after all he’d just been through, then Derek was the Queen of England, but if it would help then Derek was only too happy to pretend like everything was fine and dandy. He lit the rag, and proffered Scott the Molotov cocktail. “You want to do the honours?”

Scott’s lips curved briefly into a savage imitation of a smile. “My pleasure.” Without a second’s pause, he pulled back his arm and hurled the bottle inside the house, where it landed with a crash of glass. Within moments the house was ablaze.

It should probably bother him, Derek reflected as he stood, mesmerized, watching the flames lick the air, ever higher. The smell of burning flesh and charred wood filled his lungs, and he knew he ought to feel sickened. He would have, once. Instead, he looked over at Scott’s face; orange in the glow and oddly calm, and felt something like satisfaction coil up in his belly. He watched as the house slowly collapsed in on itself; reducing everything inside it to cinders and ash. It felt like justice.

He felt eyes on him suddenly, and he turned to find golden eyes fixed on him, searching him for something.

“I’m not sorry,” Scott said quietly, something like an apology in his voice, like he was afraid Derek might think less of him for it.

Derek only snorted softly. “You shouldn’t be,” he said simply, firmly, hoping it was enough to reassure.

Scott blinked in response, and he swallowed silently, but something tense in the set of his shoulders lifted, and he even managed a small smile when Jackson pulled him closer and pressed a kiss onto his hair.

Jackson raised a brow, expectant. “Are we done here? Because I for one would really love to go home now.”

Derek looked at Chris Argent, brow raised. “Well?”

Argent gave a long sigh, then shrugged. “I’ll have to wait for the response team to get here, and Allison will need to be debriefed, but I don’t see why you boys can’t go. Probably better if you do, in fact.”

Stiles groaned. “Thank God! I’m so tired I could sleep for a week!”

“Don’t get too excited, kid,” Derek drawled. “You’ll have to drive.”

“What?! You can’t be -” At Derek’s glower, Stiles sighed. Loudly. “Fine.”

They piled into the Camaro, bone tired, the last of their adrenaline exhausted. Derek rooted around in the glove box and wordlessly presented Stiles with a box of caffeine pills. Stiles grabbed them without a second’s hesitation and gave him a look so rife with watery-eyed appreciation that Derek shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. “Don’t mention it,” he mumbled, and turned to retrieve his blanket from the backseat, only to find Jackson had already pulled it around he and Scott. They looked as close to peaceful as they were capable of right now, half drowsing in exhaustion, so Derek just sighed, and resolved to sit there shivering, half naked. The things he did for his brothers.

“Don’t worry,” Stiles murmured, glancing at Derek’s bare chest with an amused glint in his eyes. “I’ll take the back roads so we don’t get pulled over.”

Derek didn’t grace that with an answer, so Stiles swallowed a handful of No-Doz and drove. He looked into the backseat as much as he did the road, worried still and hiding it badly, but Derek didn’t mention it.

The Camaro lurched a bit as they hit a dip in the road, and Derek glanced back into the rear view mirror only to be met with wide golden eyes as Scott woke with a start, panicked. Jackson settled him back down with a quiet murmur, and his eyes closed eventually.

In the front seat, Derek swallowed, uneasy. Scott’s eyes hadn’t been brown for one second since they’d busted him out of that hellhole, and Derek was beginning to get a sinking feeling about what that meant. Peace might be a long time coming for Scott, especially if he was letting his wolf do all the heavy lifting right now.

Derek shook his head, as if the movement might scatter those uneasy thoughts. No use worrying about what ifs. His pack was all present and accounted for, safe if not unharmed, and they were headed home. The people who’d hurt Scott were dead or would be in short order, and if there was any justice in the world all the other enclaves of those sick fucks would soon be on the run or in hiding. For now, they were safe. It was enough.

Derek scrunched down into his seat, getting comfortable. He shivered a little. Beside him, Stiles wordlessly adjusted the air conditioning. Derek dipped his head in silent thanks, offering a faint smile. He settled down, watching the unfamiliar forest speed past him in a blur, feeling almost weightless without the worry that had been his constant companion for the past two weeks pressing down on him. He let his tired eyes close, and before long he was fast asleep, dreaming of home.


End file.
